


Lucid Dreamers

by tiniestdormouse



Series: Borderlands [3]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Noble Scheming, Power Plays, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestdormouse/pseuds/tiniestdormouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in the Borderlands series. Chained together by familial loyalty and manipulated desire, Gilbert and Vincent confront the underhanded threats posed by their foster family… and the sudden resurgence of the mysterious Baskervilles. Rated M for dark sexual themes.</p><p>Sequel to "Wait for Sleep."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Gil is on the cusp of 18, Vincent is sixteen and Elliot is ten, going on eleven. Mochizuki's timeline concerning that ten-year gap Oz was gone has some weird discrepancies between events, and so I've accommodated as much as I could.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. Jun Mochizuki and Square Enix do.

Gilbert had to fly. But he couldn't. And he didn't want to.

Vivid sensations, obscured by a drowsy awareness, coating his surroundings like a wax paper covering over a lantern. Blurred motions and stark colors and heat and touches and-

He couldn't move.

But the warmth was there, so strong and firm and crushing him -

Escape, leave or be trapped forever. He couldn't breathe for all of the gasping and his body pulsed to a beat outside of himself, that steady throbbing that hooked his spine up to a string taut with need and flowed down, down and out to the very tips of his being-

He needed to go, to break off, to be free, simply free, just-

"Gil wants this."

By the Abyss, he did, so much, so urgent, so now, oh please don't stop-

Wait, he didn't want this fire racing through his limbs, that urgent thrusting of his hips against that yellow flame that controlled him-

Taut and bound. Bound and needing. Desiring.

"Gil wants me."

 _I need you, need you so much, like this, please like this_ , Gil cried silently but when he became aware again, what he saw was blood and gold of Vincent's eyes staring right into his.

"I…I…" he choked out. He tried moving his arms, but they were pinned over his head. His legs were open, wide and vulnerable as he felt Vincent's hardness rubbing against him. His brother.

"Oh… _fuck_ …"

What was happening? _Why_ was this happening?

A childlike, giggling voice echoed in his head-

_take this, Gilbert, take this for your brother, you love him don't you_

_you love him_

_love him_

_Stop!_ Gilbert replied but the word wouldn't move past his raw lips. He wrapped his legs around the tight, coiled body before him, and a strangled moan escaped his mouth instead.

And he heard Vince, almost purring with delight, pressing his corn-silk head against his chest and covered Gil's sweat-soaked body with his own.

"You feel so good, brother. So good…"

"Ngh!" His head fell back against the covers, as the vertigo made him gag with nausea. A sensation, akin to the pull of chains, ensnared his limbs _(that didn't make sense, he was in bed, this was his brother, but nothing made sense anymore, nothing but… oh please don't stop this_ ever _…)_.

Fear and desire. He needed this. He wanted this to end.

Illogically (he knew, but wanted) a plea:

Oz, save him, Oz-

"…help me…" Gil clenched his eyes shut and that sane, real part of him flew away…

"I am helping," said Vincent fervently, but even Vincent didn't sound like Vincent, because his brother was _never_ this forceful, never this demanding. "Let me help, my dear brother…"

Gilbert's body, caged and lusting, remained behind. It was his body that suffered the forced kisses and that insidious tongue that licked and sucked and bit him all over. It was his body that responded with flushing heat and panting breath and had his firm desire make sickening slapping sounds against his brother's flat stomach. It couldn't be him, not really him, not truly because he was in the air, he leapt, he soared-

And fell. Back down into the flesh of that corporeal, writhing form, and Gilbert screamed voicelessly as the invisible cords tightened and dragged him into the depths of his mind-

xxxxxxx

Below, past the Doorway to the Abyss, in the inky blackness, chains rattled.

A creature, long patient, stirred.

xxxxxxx

And Gilbert woke up.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of Gilbert's trial for the Raven, he mets the last person he expects...

The morning of Gilbert's trial for the Raven, the first thing he did was vomit.

As soon as he tumbled out of bed, he staggered to the bathroom and retched, repeatedly. His body was drenched in a cold sweat, soaking through his nightshirt and plastering his hair to his forehead. Gilbert shivered, clutching the smooth coldness of the porcelain before him. His stomach turned in knots from nerves; this was a habitual problem for him.

Steadying himself on wobbling knees, Gilbert washed his hands and measured out a draught of chamomile-and-mint tonic. _Don't think about the Raven_ , he thought, _or the stomach pains'll only get worse_. He swallowed the medicine and turned to the bathtub. By then, whatever he dreamt about had faded into forgetfulness, but he still felt a layer of filth coating the length of his body.

_Don't think about the Raven. Don't think and everything will be fine._

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he turned the knobs on the tub to its hottest settings and leaned against the smooth, curved side as he let the sound of rushing water overtake his hearing.

In his bedroom, early morning sunlight slanted through parted curtains. Gilbert noticed his bedside candle spilled, ruining the top shelf of his nightstand. He had forgotten to blow it out and it must've had tumbled over during the night, splattering the expensive wood with the hardened wax remains.

 _Surprising none of it got onto the sheets,_ he thought, trying to distract himself from the looming task before him.

He dragged his left hand down his face and sighed. He must've had serious stress-induced nightmares; all he could recall was a vague sense of horror and disgust. No wonder: last night had been terribly nerve-wracking. Weeks of intensive training and minding Vincent's sleep spells collimated into that argument with the Nightrays and yelling at his younger brother.

And, oh gods, Vincent—sick in bed from that Dormouse who drained his strength away. The better, more understanding part of Gilbert knew that Vincent was only trying his best. Gil tried not to get angry at him often, because of that odd fragility draped around his little brother. He was always so cheerful and good-natured, and yet underlying those smiles, Gil sensed a strange delicacy and…something… unbalanced.

There was the way Vincent smiled for just a second too long, or how he became fixated on something with that slightly drifting stare of his—a knight during a game of chess, or a shifting curtain, or Gilbert's hands at the dinner table—that made him suddenly self-conscious. Not to _mention_ those teddies…

But he shouldn't keep reacting that way. Vincent was his family, his real family.

A sticky dampness crept beneath his skin at this thought, but Gilbert pushed it away.

The tub was nearly full when he turned the taps, peeled off his nightshirt, and lowered himself in the steaming water. Leaning his head against the side, he felt soreness across his neck and throat and tentatively explored the area with his fingers. Must be from retching on an empty stomach – he hadn't eaten the night before – but the skin was tender too. Must've slept the wrong way the night before. Little wonder on that, since he barely remembered getting undressed, he'd been so exhausted.

While soaking in the tub, Gilbert at last directed his train of thought toward his potential Chain. Or at least tried to think about it without cramping his stomach. In response, his torso twitched and he bent double in the water, hugging his knees to his chest.

He had to focus. He had to mentally prep. There were relaxation techniques, breathing patterns, concentration exercises…. He sighed and dunked his head beneath the surface, willing to forget them all.

A sensation of water covering him completely made him relax somewhat. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax and think of nothing. Just nothing.

Nothing but the heat and the water and that sensation of sinking… sinking into…

Warm hands rubbing his neck, pressing sensually, rubbing the knots of tensed muscle—

" _Gil…"_

His eyes snapped opened and he burst his head from the water, nearly choking. That voice, that voice was—

His golden eyes scanned the bathroom and saw no one but himself.

"Pull yourself together!" Gilbert said aloud, as if his voice could override silent thoughts buzzing through his mind.

Suddenly the water had become too cold. He hauled himself out of the bath and wrapped in a towel from the heated rack.

In his deepest slumber and playful daydreams he'd imagine Oz. Memories of teasing, jostling, laughter. That impossible, mischievous Oz Vessalius, that sunbeam in his darkened life.

And this trial was for Oz. Everything was for Oz.

Dripping water as he padded into the bedroom, Gil let his eyes close in thought about his dearest young master. They never did as much together in reality as Gil liked to fantasize – their past contained only the shy, exploratory embraces to fulfill adolescent lusts – but it kept his nights from feeling less hollow. But that moment, that voice in his mind was _definitely_ not of that bright-haired noble boy.

But whose voice was that? He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought as he pulled at the bedside drawer to retrieve some medicinal lotion he used for stiffened muscles, only to discover the bottle was entirely empty.

He swore it had been half-full the last time he used it. Gil reminded himself that he had to go into town later to purchase some more before his eyes fell on the mantle clock.

His trial for the Raven began in a half-hour.

Gods be damned!

A knock on the bedroom door. "Young master," called the head steward. "Are you awake yet?"

"Yes!"

"Should I send in someone to help you dress?"

"No, Joseph, I'm fine, I'm fine…" Gil called as he threw open his wardrobe. He hated using the help, especially having come from their ranks. He didn't deserve to have servants of his own, and never took a personal valet even after his coming-of-age ceremony.

Choosing plain underclothes and a thin chemise, white cravat, a black waistcoat and trousers from his things, he hurriedly changed.

"Does the young master want a tray sent up?"

"No time!" Gil grabbed a black ribbon to tie back his hair, getting the fine silk tangled in his haste. "Damn these things-" he muttered, and then added loudly, "Is Vincent awake?"

"I don't believe your brother is well."

A stab of guilt. Gil gritted his teeth. His little brother had been more eager to see Gilbert at the Raven's trial than he was. But that Dormouse was exhausting him….

"I'll stop by his rooms." Shrugging into a long, clean-cut coat from the wardrobe, Gilbert then grabbed the most important item – the unsealed blood mirror amulet on its golden chain – from the edge of his bureau. He threw it over his head and pulled on a pair of boots to complete the outfit.

He opened his door and Joseph gave a low bow. "Best of luck, young master," he said, that usually impassive voice showing a hint of warmth.

Gilbert clasped the servant's shoulder. "Thank you."

Vincent's rooms were on the other side of the manor, and so Gil sprinted across and found a pair of maids leaving Vincent's rooms. He waved at the middle-aged, shorter one with graying hair. "Susie," he asked, "how's he?"

"Asleep, young master," Susie shook her head sadly. "The Duke's stopped in, but now it's young Master Elliot's turn to watch over him."

"Let me see him-"

"Quickly, then. The Duke's already headed downstairs for you."

Gilbert entered Vincent's receiving room – a compete mess of stuffing, broken toys, and scattered belongings, so unlike his own – and entered the bedroom. Elliot, hunched over a chair, propped his elbows on his knees. His wooden sword leaned against the wall, always within arm's reach. The ten year-old kicked at the chair legs irritably, but even that _thunk-thunk-thunk_ wasn't enough to rouse Vincent.

"How's Vince?"

Elliot puffed at his bangs in frustration. "Oh, sleeping. Like he's been _all morning_." He turned to Gilbert. "Father's asked me to watch him, but it's not like anything's going to actually _happen_."

Gilbert went over to the bedside and sure enough, there was his younger brother curled up on his side. Carefully, his fingertips brushed the edge of Vince's cheek. He looked so peaceful in sleep, losing his peculiar affectations. Almost like when they were younger, when he and Gil had shared a bed together…

"Um… Gil?" Elliot said awkwardly behind him.

"Yeah?" He glanced over his shoulder and stepped away from the bedside, feeling suddenly flush.

"Do you think if you asked Father nicely, I can watch your trial too? Like, really nicely?"

Gilbert cracked a smile, relaxing a bit. "If that's the Duke's orders, I can't protest them."

"But I was there for Vince-" Elliot crossed his arms and huffed again. " 'Snot fair. I bet yours would be _loads_ more exciting. All I saw was that Pandora guy eat a whole tin of sweets while Vince disappeared into the Doorway. And he didn't even _share_."

Gilbert rustled a hand through Elliot's hair, an action the child barely tolerated in his foul mood. "I think it's best that we listen to the Duke this time." A trickle of wariness made Gilbert frown, however. He understood if the Duke didn't want Elliot to be exposed to any harm, but why sequester him away from his trial with the Raven when the Dormouse's had more potential for danger?

Nevertheless, he shrugged that nagging thought away. "Mind Vincent for me, okay?"

Elliot sighed. "I guess."

"I promise to show you the Raven once I tame it."

"You better."

Leaving Vincent's rooms, Gilbert reasoned out Duke Nightray's decision. Gil, Vince, and Elliot weren't allowed at any of the attempted trials for their older siblings. The Raven was a notoriously violent Chain. If Vincent's control over the Dormouse was stronger, perhaps, both he and Elliot would be able to watch-

An odd sensation tugged at Gilbert's chest at the thought of Vince not being there. Of course, Gilbert had been inwardly freaking out that the Raven would emerge during the whole episode of Dormouse's trial, but he held concern for his younger brother too. The Raven could've killed him, like he almost killed Claude, the last Nightray to enter the Doorway. How stupid Vincent was to chance all of that for some useless little Chain…

Gilbert descended the stairs when it suddenly hit that he _regretted_ not trying to wake Vincent up. Yet there was nothing he could do now.

When he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he immediately noticed how empty the Nightray cellar was. All of the wall lanterns flickered brightly, highlighting the small group huddled before the Doorway. Where were the teams of Pandora officials? Wasn't the danger of the Raven enough to warrant it like last time?

Up ahead, he saw Fred and the Duke conferring together. And there was their uncle, whom he hadn't expected at all. He was talking to a fourth man, who had his back turned to Gil.

Upon hearing him descend, they all turned to greet him. The mysterious forth gentleman took off his top hat and flourished the short cape of his Pandora uniform. Gil's eyes narrowed and the grip on the lantern he held tightened until the whole thing shook.

"Welcome, Gilbert," said Zai Vessalius. "It's been a long time."


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new game has begun on the brink of the Raven's trial, and everyone's intentions are now suspect…

 

 

_master master wakey-wakey…_

The high-pitched voice nudging at his consciousness.

_master…_

Slow realization. How many times has it been like this, wading in the not-waters between sleep and awareness? Vincent roused himself, but this time it was harder, so much harder than earlier this morning.

Then, when the light had barely crept into Gilbert's bedroom, Vincent had stirred to see his gorgeous brother curled beside him. Tendrils of grey sunshine had fallen across the bedspread, gently touching the contours of Gil's still form.

For a few moments, Vince simply watched his brother, letting his fingers trail up and down along the curve of one shoulder.

The nagging discomforts that had haunted their encounter the night before washed away. _How nostalgic!_ he thought.

Vincent had kissed him on the corner of his mouth before rising. The sheets stank of sweat and sex and he knew better than to leave them there. The Dormouse gave him his dream, true, but he couldn't share his dream with anyone, especially not Gil—at least not now.

He'll make Gilbert remember, slowly. Carefully. Until he realized how deeply and truly Vincent, and only Vincent, loved him. Everyone else had lied to them, used them.

And Vince had never used his dearest brother. Never-ever never.

Once Gil remembered this, _then_ the _real_ love would come. That deep bond that'd cleave his brother to him forever, marked in heart and mind has deeply as they had been in flesh.

The Dormouse kept him sleeping as Vincent lifted his brother out of the bed – how light and limp, his limbs dangling just so – and placed him on the divan in the sitting room as he changed the sheets of the bed. He put the bottle back in the drawer (the wax-splattered bedstand could be explained away easily enough), and took a wet cloth and ran it tenderly over his brother's body, kissing here and there as he shifted in his slumber. Finally, pulling on a fresh nightshirt over that pale, precious body and dressing himself, Vincent tucked him into bed and placed a soft kiss on top of Gilbert's head before returning to his rooms.

He took the sheets and the ripped nightshirt back to his room, burying his nose into their mingled scents. Those were his now. Loving keepsakes.

Vincent hid the dirtied sheets beneath piles of torn curtains in the corner of his bedroom and stowed the carefully folded nightshirt beneath his pillow.

Climbing into bed, the fatigue from the late hour and his ministrations finally overwhelmed him. He fell into nothingness.

_Thunk-thunk-thunk-_

_master… wake up…_

Headache. Vincent blinked and saw how fuzzy the room was around him. Where was that sound-?

Elliot perked up by his bedside, that annoying sound stopping as he hopped from his chair.

"Hey!"

For a moment, Vincent's heart twisted over the fact that the wrong brother was there.

"Where's Gilbert?" he muttered and a dull haze enveloped his senses.

"At his trial, dummy. Did you forget?"

Of course! Vincent tried to move, but found that all of his limbs weighed much more than before. _Dormouse…_. he berated.

_no master i did not do this master this is a false sleep not me not me_

_i was good i tried to wake you i did_

"Why… why didn't anyone…?"

"You're sick. Father was up here earlier and tried to wake you," Elliot answered. "If you got up sooner, I bet he would've let us both watch Gil. It's not fair."

"What?" He blinked, slowly, coming top grips with the situation. "Who's downstairs?"

"Only him, Fred and Uncle," Elliot pouted. "Claude had a fit that Father was kicking him and Ernest out too, though, so I guess this isn't too bad." Leaning his elbows on his knees, he added a bit sulkily, "And then both of them ran off somewhere with Vanessa and so I got stuck here."

Keeping him in bed during a time like this! "And… Pandora…?" Vincent imagined – perhaps – that this would be a plot that Break hatched. That clown, spending all his time with Gil even when Vincent wasn't there for training. He wanted the power of the Raven for the Rainsworths, tying Gil into another noble's web…

"No one showed up except for some new guy."

Another surprise. "Not the Mad Hatter?"

"That weird guy with the doll?" Elliot shook his head.

Vincent's feeling of unease grew. "Did you hear Joseph announce him when he arrived?"

"No. He came through the servant's entrance, like he didn't want to be noticed. Maybe he's embarrassed to show people that scar on his face."

Zai Vessalius. The man hadn't been around Pandora headquarters for years. He didn't know the man personally ( _didn't bother to, didn't want to, Vessalius scum_ ), but his aloof reputation was as famous as his brother Oscar's gregariousness.

Why show up now? Vincent's blood ran cold. Something wasn't right.

Maybe Zai wanted revenge against Gil for failing to protect his bratty son.

Maybe Zai wanted to test his powers against the Raven's. His Chain, the black-feathered Gryphon, was able to travel back and forth through the Abyss too.

Or maybe, he discovered _the secret truth about Gilbert_. About them both.

That they were _much_ older than anyone knew.

That Gil had been employed in the Baskerville household. Not even his brother remembered...

And Vincent had been being so good and clever - he _protected_ this knowledge from Gil, from _anyone_ in this time, because of the danger, because Gil had gotten hurt for being a Baskerville once already...

But if Vessalius and the Gryphon have finally come for Gilbert, then—

He stumbled up from the bed, setting the room at a tailspin.

 _Dormouse!_ he ordered silently, sinking back to search his mind for its presence. _What happened?_

In his mind's eye, the Dormouse poked its head into his awareness.

_i tried to wake you master i tried i did_

_but the human gave you a draught_

_Which human?_ Vincent asked.

The Dormouse mulled this over. _hmmmmm_

_you all are so hard to tell apart…_

_Dormouse!_

_the one you call Fred,_ the Dormouse said brightly. It flicked its tail. _yes that is it Fred_

Vincent struggled against his sheets.

"Whoa, Vince!" Elliot grabbed at his arms before he fell out of the bed. "You're recovering-"

"Let me go, Elliot, I need to be at Gilbert's trial-"

"I told you, already, Father won't let any of us be there-"

"They'll hurt him, they'll-" Grasping at whatever strength he could muster, Vincent shoved his younger adopted brother to the floor.

Elliot fell hard. He sat, stunned for a moment, before screaming, "Hey, had that dumb Chain made you go deaf, idiot-? I said, you're not allowed to go-!"

"Don't try to order me about-" Vincent muttered, gripping the wall as he stumbled to the door. Suddenly, a ball of miniature fury rammed into his side, knocking him down. Elliot sat on his legs and started pummeling his chest with both fists. Vincent would've laughed had Gil's life not be held in question at the very moment.

"You want me to beat some sense into you?" the ten year-old raged. "Father said this was important, and if any of us distracted Gil, he could fail at getting the Raven. And _then_ what would happen to the Nightray name?"

In any other circumstance, Vincent would've tossed the boy aside, favorite foster brother or not. But the drug-induced haze made him falter and he barely shoved Elliot away. His little brother tugged at the front of his nightshirt, bowling them both over on the floor. "If you really cared about Gil and our family, you'd leave him alone!"

"Vincent! Elliot!"

Both of them looked up to see Lady Nightray standing in the doorway, arms crossed. "You are both acting worse than ruffians." The Duchess yanked Elliot off of Vincent and started straightening his untucked shirt and retying the ribbon around his neck. "Such immaturity, Elliot. Your father would be very disappointed to hear you misbehaving."

"Vince started it," Elliot argued sulkily. "Because he's too dumb to hear things right the first time."

"Now, now, don't talk about the ward that way." The Lady never called Gil or Vincent anything but "wards" as if they were interesting accessories to the family as opposed to actual people. Not that Vincent expected much from his "dearest foster mother." She could be plotting against Gil, too, that bitch.

Now the precocious Nightray switched gears. "Mother, if Vincent wants to go to Gilbert's trial, can I help him?"

Lady Nightray crooned, "Elly, sweetheart…"

"Please? I can watch to make sure he doesn't fall over-"

"Vincent's sick, dear," she said curtly, in a tone that implied that this was Vincent's natural state of being.

But Vincent wasn't paying attention. He was busy pulling his Pandora uniform over his nightshirt. He stumbled and grabbed his shoes, blinking bleary at the lights in the room. He had to get there, he just had to-

"Young master-!"

Strong hands grabbed him from behind as a pair of Lady Nightray's servants held him. "The Duke's orders-"

"Damn," Vincent cursed softly. "Gilbert… he's… he's…"

xxxxxxx

"Why are you here?" Gil demanded. "It's been years since you've left Pandora." He gripped his thigh, reaching for the gun holster that wasn't there. He had none of his weapons, left vulnerable. This is not what he imagined would happen when he saw Zai Vessalius for the first time since Oz's disappearance. No, that man should be in a puddle of his own blood already.

The Vessalius noble gave a small bow. "I'm presiding over your trial."

"What…? Where's Break?" This didn't make any sense! Break had been his mentor and combat trainer since the beginning, and he had overseen Vincent's trial barely a month before.

Sudden anger, strong and bitter, overwhelmed him. That damned traitor! Working in league with the Baskervilles!

Gilbert hadn't seen Zai since Oz's coming-of-age ceremony three years ago, and no one believed it was him that threw Oz into the Abyss, not even Lord Oscar. And the alibi? Because he was with Duke Nightray—

His eyes flashed toward the Duke. "Xerxes Break did request to be here," the black-haired noble answered coolly. "But I turned him down. I have every right to select which Pandora officials can be present for the black blade's passage."

What kind of game was this Duke playing? There were rumors the Nightrays were responsible for the death of Oz's mother, though nothing had ever been confirmed. Nevertheless, the Vessalius house and the Nightray house were sworn enemies. How could a man ever forgive the family involved in the killing of his wife? Why did the Duke vouch for his enemy?

Cold-hearted traitor, hateful father, Baskerville conspirator! There was _nothing_ redeeming about this man, this sickening cretin who is acting ever so courteously—

Gilbert blinked, his rage letting up in his confusion. "But…" he confronted the scarred man again, trying with every ounce of will to keep from attacking him outright. "Lord Oscar's taken your place-"

"As head of the Dukedom, I know. We agreed it would be for the best. But I still control the Gryphon, and I never officially resigned from my position at Pandora." Zai replied in a calm, even-mannered tone. Yet Gilbert could sense that frigidness behind the politeness, and again, stinging memories of his rejection of Oz fueled his burning anger.

Did Zai suspect that was why Gilbert wanted the Raven? Was he here to stop him from attaining the contract and rescuing Oz?

The former Vessalius Duke concluded, "As a senior aide and of the highest nobility, my presence here is more than justifiable at this prominent occasion for the Nightray Dukedom."

The longer he had to look at that despicable man's face, the less Gil was able to think straight. This-! Man-! Banished-! Oz-!

In steely tones, he observed, "For such an important ceremony, the turnout's quite small." He looked around the cellar. Unlike the score of people who witnessed Vincent, the only ones present were him, the Duke, his uncle, Fred, and Zai. Not even Ernest and Claude, who had been so angry at Vincent's trial, showed their faces.

"Also, at my request," The Duke explained, both hands folded on top of his cane. "You know how dangerous the Raven can get. The last time we tried to contract the Raven to Claude, he got seriously injured, alongside many others."

"But everyone bore witness for Vincent."

"That was a different matter. For the Raven, only the people most necessary should supervise. At least, that is the opinion of Pandora." Zai smiled.

 _You stopped representing Pandora years ago, you smiling devil!_ Gilbert almost screamed this thought. The sudden burst of intensity was starting to make him see sparks flaring in his vision, and a dull throb began to form at his temples…

_Kill him…_

Fred asked, almost innocently but not quite: "Does this mean you don't want to undergo your trial, Gilbert?"

The uncle-in-law, who hadn't said a word this entire time, only grinned.

_Kill them all…_

"No, I…" Gil scowled, shaking his head and putting down the lantern. His hand had strayed toward his thigh again, missing that cold revolver. He had to calm down. He had to think this through. But there was so much he didn't understand. If the Duke Nightray had such utter faith in his ability, why these sudden changes? Did Fred or their uncle influence his decision? And why, out of all people, did he select _Zai Vessalius_ to oversee his trial-?

The sense of a trap, of a cage settling over him-

"Good morning!"

All eyes focused on the cellar steps. Vincent appeared from around the corner of the stairwell, one hand clinging to the wall, his clothes in compete disarray. Unlike his typical sharply-attired self, his Pandora uniform draped haphazardly over his nightclothes, the white shirt peeking out from the top and sleeves of the long jacket, which was only half-buttoned. His long blond hair hadn't even been tied back, but tumbled a tangled mess down his shoulders.

"Vince." Relief flooded through him and the pressure against his skull subsided. "You're well."

His brother slipped on a stone step and Gilbert sprinted up them to grab his elbow. Leaning against Gil for support, his little brother glared at the men below them as they descending together.

"I'm… surprised, good gentlemen, to be left out of these proceedings," Vincent said in a playful drawl. "Being a member of Pandora after all and Gilbert's only blood relation."

"Dear Vincent," Fred stepped forward, arms extended. "I saw you this morning. You are not in a state to be here."

"Nonsense. And I… have… every… right…" Vincent slumped and Gilbert grabbed him with both arms, holding him up. His little brother, his only ally in this den of wolves.

The rush of sudden emotions was too much. Gilbert wanted to shoot Zai in the face—he wanted to scream for the Raven to claim him—he wanted to throttle the Duke and ask for some straight answers— Shaking his head as if throwing off all these conflicting feelings, he found himself saying, "I demand that my brother be allowed to bear witness as a member of Pandora or I will file a complaint to Lord Barma himself."

His uncle-in-law gave a start. "The brat whines for his brat," he sneered. "But the ward's not fit to stand, and seeing the fool in that mess puts a shame upon Pandora."

Zai arched an eyebrow. "I can overrule your request."

"Does the Duke agree then? Father," he said in a rare moment addressing the Duke as kin, "I refuse to undergo my trial if Vincent cannot be present."

He waited to see where the Duke's cards laid. Was he for Gil, or had he turned against him?

Fred shrugged casually. "Such fuss," he said lightly. "You're being more temperamental than Elliot."

The Duke threw his head back and laughed, a deep one that resonated throughout the cavernous room. "This is probably the most I've ever seen you get worked up over something for Vincent's sake," he commented dryly. "I see no issue with your concern. But if something should happen-"

"Nothing will," Gilbert snapped. "The Raven is mine."

"Hmpf," went his uncle, but the Duke stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Fine," he said after a few moments. "Fred, why don't you find a seat for Vince?"

Without batting an eye, Fred replied, "Certainly, Father." Gilbert glanced over at his uncle-in-law, trying to gauge his reaction. The in-law was checking his pocketwatch, however, and avoided his eyes.

Unexpectedly, Zai commented, "You're grown to be a very loyal young man, Gilbert Nightray. That's an admirable trait. The Raven will see that."

Zai's calculated compliment startled Gil. What was he aiming for? Was he playing the Duke a fool just as he's been doing to everyone else? Was the Duke's agenda different from Fred and their uncle-in-law's? And how did the absence of Xerxes Break factor into all of this? Did the Rainsworths lose a power play at Pandora? Was the Vessalius Dukedom working to gain more?

A game was being conducted, and Gilbert was but a pawn, watching bishops, kings, and knights angle themselves around him. He clutched Vincent tighter as Fred grabbed a low stool for him to sit upon.

His brother was the only one in this room he trusted.

Vincent sighed before Gil let him sit down. "Good luck," he murmured, pressing a hand against Gil's heart.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is Gilbert Nightray's trial for the Raven... including all of the other parts he didn't tell Elliot. In the meantime, Vincent contemplates the ulterior motivations of his "dearest, most loving" adopted family and recruits the household help in his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Gil recalls events and memories explained in more detail in the side story "Trust / Bond." Believe me, you'll want to read it after this chapter if you haven't already. ^_~

 

Here they were, all ready for another go at their demon's game. Despite the tension in the room, Vincent felt at ease. He was the only one who sat, but he eyed them all in self-assured serenity, stretching his legs before him and gripping the edge of the seat behind him for balance. He knew how he looked: sleepy, disheveled, and childish. That's all they expected from him.

Vincent tried keeping his eyes steady, slipping his hand in the right-side pocket of his Pandora uniform where he tucked his scissors. Discreetly, his fingers found the looped handle and he pressed the pointed tip against the outside of his thigh.

Quickly, he stabbed the point into his leg.

Sharp pain jarred his senses. He fingered the hole he pierced through his pocket lining and brushed warm blood.

He'll deal with the wound later. What mattered now was staying awake. Staying awake for Gil. He wasn't going to let Fred's sleeping draught take hold again... He had to be ready...

The Nightray heir in question caught the expression on his face. "Worried about our brother?" he asked lightly.

 _He's_ my _brother, not yours._

"I have every confidence in him," Vincent replied, letting false sunshine mask his pain.

Only moments before had Vincent watched Gilbert disappear into the Doorway to the Abyss without a backward glance. When Gilbert sat him down, Vincent sensed a renewed determination that hadn't even been there the night before. A hint of his old self-confidence from their childhood, unleashed in anger and discontent. A moment so rare these days, seeing his brother how he was before the Vessalius family broke his spirit, that turned him into a subservient shadow of the brave boy Vincent had admired and loved.

Sitting on a low, backless stool was not ideal though. The grogginess from the draught made it difficult. And after being taken by Gil last night, sitting on hard surfaces wasn't comfortable for an entirely different reason. Arousal pooled at the base of his stomach at the memory, keeping him more alert than the inflicted pain did. Vincent shifted, trying to ignore the various aches and pleasures that motivated his body. He surveyed the men around him, all of them intently focused on the Doorway.

First was Duke Nightray, standing arms crossed, chin down, with Fred murmuring something in his ear. Behind that commanding presence was an insecure fool. Vincent recounted the many times he was interrogated in the Duke's study over every single detail of Gilbert's life (which he gave, heavily edited). The man's intentions were as transparent as glass: proud, arrogant, and desperate, willing to do anything to reclaim a tarnished reputation.

Same for the Duke's eldest son and his brother-in-law. Fred Nightray stood at ease as he leaned away from his father, a casual hand brushing against his trim blond mustache. The young heir to the Nightray Dukedom was an experienced diplomat and looked the part: all starch and a neutral kindness that rang of insincerity. From his stance, nothing gave away the fact that he tried to stop Vincent from attending Gilbert's trial, but Vincent grew up expecting little else from him.

Yet in contrast to the poker face Fred displayed, his uncle was an open deck, even as he stood there shuffling his feet and staring at his boots like a impudent schoolboy upon receiving a demerit. Stout, jabbering, fretful, and bitter: the uncle-in-law (Vincent had long ago refused even to acknowledge the man's real name and pathetically-earned title, since the Nightray relation only referred to Vincent and Gilbert as "brats," "wards," and "street rats") snatched at whatever dangling bits of influence he could get. No wonder he clung to Fred and Duke Nightray so tightly.

The true mystery was Zai Vessalius, who even now in the middle of the brightly-lit cellar looked as if he stood in gloom. The scar across his face created a ridge that cast a slight diagonal shadow across the right side of his face. He had complimented Gil's loyalty just before he entered the Abyss. What did that mean? Does he want Gilbert to succeed? But surely, he knew that Gilbert once accused him of sending the Oz brat to the Abyss...

(Gilbert confessed this to Vincent once when he tried to gather a case against the Vessalius nobleman, and Vincent believed his brother's sincerity at least, if nothing else.)

Vincent assessed the Pandora uniform Zai wore was impeccable, but out-of-sync with current regulations, revealing just how long it had been since he had to wear it.

Then, Vince realized what else made Zai appear so different.

At his feet, while the four of them had shadows that overlapped each other – being so close with the lights blazing – Zai's stood apart. Stood _oddly_ apart.

Vince glanced at the former Duke. Did Zai notice at all? Did any of them?

Slowly, Zai's shadow stretched and pooled, meeting all of theirs once more. But that wasn't because the Pandora representative had stepped any closer to the group.

The shadow had moved _on its own_. Because Vincent had _noticed_ its difference.

 _We're not the only people in this room,_ Vincent realized. _Even without the clown, the Rainworths have an in after all..._

xxxxxxx

The darkness was complete. It enfolded Gilbert, coated him with a such an oppressive heaviness that Gilbert thought for a moment that he was being swallowed alive in the throat of a monstrous beast.

In a sense, this was exactly like before, years ago, when Vincent first showed him the Doorway. His boots splashed against some liquid, but not-liquid, a dream water whose coldness seeped through the soles of his shoes. A smell of staleness and old, mouldering pillows. And, in the distance, the echoing rattle of dozens of chains.

The loss of self in this darkness unnerved him. He stood, paralyzed, as fear fluttered outwards from the pit of his stomach. He couldn't move. This was exactly what Vincent had reported: entrapment. His legs didn't work; he was caught, the Raven would consume him chunk by bloody chunk...

No!

Breathe, simply breathe...

Breathe in and out... and in and out...

Soon, Gilbert's eyes adjusted bit by bit to focus on those chains outlined in the Abyss's dimness.

A touch against the back of his neck. Gilbert flinched, reached out, and yanked a decayed feather from the air. The fragile thing crumbled to dust between his gloved fingers.

More feathers drifted through the air. Their dustiness itched his nose.

Feathers – signs of the Raven's presence.

Gilbert's leg twitched as another feather landed. He took a step, tentatively, and was relieved to realize that he wasn't actually immobilized as Vincent had been when confronted by the Raven.

He walked slowly, his boots sloshing through stale-smelling not-water. Above, he noticed the chains sway.

Gilbert blinked once before the Raven's luminescent yellow eye appeared. He froze. The tiny retina seemed to pin him down.

 **You... again?** The Chain's voice boomed out over the bay of darkness. It echoed eerily, as if it wasn't a solitary voice magnified, but hundreds of voices overlapping to form a single chord.

Gilbert raised his head. "... Yes."

The Raven's eye vanished. Again came the Chain's voice, the words indistinct. Gilbert wasn't sure if they were meant for him, or a foreign mantra made with words as ancient as the Abyss itself. The vibrations of these mutters sent sparks of static dancing over his clothes, raising the hairs along his neck. Echos of many voices flowed through the air, and yet all were one, re-vibrating and colliding and repeating and murmuring...

Was the Raven assessing him? What the the feeling that Break kept emphasizing throughout his training, the meaning of being exposed?

This was the mystery Gilbert had wondered about: the meaning of exposure. Once, Break had tied him in chains as a "exercise" to learn how to bear himself open, let himself go completely. It didn't work the way Gil expected, not until Vincent tried the same...

Hot embarrassment flushed his cheeks at the thought. _I know what you need,_ he said silently to the Raven. _You need my darkness._

The Raven made no further motion and after awhile, Gilbert started moving again, finding little else to do.

Minutes or hours passed as Gilbert traversed through nothingness. The further he walked, the thicker the air became as the feathers clogged the atmosphere. His footsteps slowed as the not-water's consistency became viscous. His limbs, tired after what felt like roaming for miles, lagged. A strange feeling settled over him, that his body was falling asleep while his mind stayed aware.

What was this sensation? Oh, yes, he recognized it. Whenever he trained his body until the point of exhaustion at Pandora, but his mind remained too anxious to remain still at night, Gilbert would lie half-awake, half-asleep and literally feel his bodily paralysis. And what dreams arrived on those restless nights...

Only the best: he flew through forests; he moved mountains; he plunged into the very pits of hell and snatched Oz from dragons, and afterward they moved together, limbs entangled amidst sweat-soaked thrusts until it was impossible to tell where Gil ended and his young master began...

Those dreams made it worth living inside a nightmare.

Gilbert once read up on this phenomenon in some obscure texts on the science of the brain. There was a term for those nights – lucid dreaming. A state of sleep when anything became possible, where he became master of the tiny universe of his subconscious.

And that lucid state arrived now, seeping into his flesh, when the Raven declared (but was this only a dream?):

**You are qualified.**

Instantly, the Raven's chains lashed out. Gil's arms and his legs were ensnared and spread wide. Gilbert cried out wordlessly.

In flooded the memories in association, including those that made him flush at the Raven seeing.

Raging at Break, that white-haired pervert, for having such a stupid and literal idea about the Chain's tactics. That red eye sparkling in mirth as his trainer watched him struggle, tied and hanging from the pipes.

Memories.

Another red eye, a younger smirking face. Vincent trailing his fingers along the inside of his arms. "Gilbert's game," his little brother had called it mockingly as he fastened the manacles over his wrists.

"This is an exercise," Gilbert had affirmed stubbornly. Vincent had only laughed.

A razor slash against his neck brought Gil back to the moment.

Hot blood spurted out, staining his ripped cravat and splattering droplets onto the ground. Gilbert watched his blood dissolve into the not-water as an inky pair of wings fluttered before him. Something thick and ridged and slimy laved at his neck. Hot air and the smell of rust and terror as the Raven tasted him.

Maybe Gilbert screamed then too, but he couldn't tell.

**Just as I thought... Your blood tastes the same.**

A low, rumbling sound as the chains rattled overhead madly. More blood trickled down his shirt, soaking through his waistcoat. Why so much, so quickly...?

 _Artery vein_ , Gilbert realized, panicking. He could bleed out in this nothingness of the Abyss in minutes. He could die.

"Damn..." he cursed through gritted teeth.

More eyes surrounded him, appearing like minions of a feathered Argus. The Raven assessed him all around, scanning every inch of his flesh, analyzing the depths of his being….

Enigmatic words came from the Chain as those many eyes watched and blinked and shifted about him.

**The first time, you failed.**

The words stabbed at Gilbert accusingly. What did the Raven mean, the first time? Nevertheless, the word _failure_ echoed inside a hollow place in Gilbert's chest. So many times in the past, no matter how much he tried...

**The second time, you lost awareness of yourself.**

_I fail, I fail, I always fail..._

**Without awareness, power remains hidden.**

_But I can't, not anymore..._

**What about now?**

_Not. Anymore._

"Just... shut up!" Gilbert yanked the chain that bound his left wrist. He wanted to wretch out the weakness that hindered his soul. He had fought for years to transform his frailty into something harder, stronger, tougher...

"I've devoted my _life_ to forming a contract with you!" he roared, his head falling forward. Eyes twisted shut, he screamed out each desire that had been bottled up inside since the day Vincent first led him down to the Nightray cellar. "I want..." he hesitated briefly, "...the power to kill." Another gasp, another spurt of blood. "To seal. To protect."

Dizziness started to set in. He was draining out. Too fast, too soon...

No. Not when he was so close.

He rattled the chain in his left hand. "If I'm really qualified, then form a contract with me!"

No answer.

Gilbert's knees started to sag; his arms fought to hold himself up. With a final lurch, he screamed: "RAVEN!"

Silence.

Then, a private voice, a singular note spoke inside his head, replacing the legion that was the Raven.

**Is that all you offer me, human?**

This can't be it. This can't be...

 _I fail,_ Gilbert said brokenly to the Raven. _That's all I've ever done._

Drops of cold sweat gathering at his collar, mixing with the warm blood. His blood mirror amulet's gold chain rubbed against the tender skin, creating a burning sensation around his neck. His breath came out in shorter pants. His head became too heavy to lift...

This can't be it...

That deeper darkness, one beyond simple fear of death, began to emerge. _I try... believe me, I try. But it's never enough. And I keep... hurting the ones I need to protect..._

Memories.

The shadow of Zai's terrible face beneath his Baskerville hood at Oz's coming-of-age ceremony. _This is for you, Oz! w_ as Gilbert's final thought before the cold steel cut through fabric and flesh and muscle, before the world transformed into nothing but pain and the roaring of the Gryphon in his ears...

Memories.

From the time before Oz, the only ghostly nightmare he recalled from when he and Vince lived as children in the streets.

That stranger.

Gil had misjudged him, the rich foreigner with the soft, smooth palms who took them by the hand to his townhouse with promises of stuffed toys and good food and special treats for wonderful little boys like them...And man seemed so fond of his little brother. Gilbert watched as little Vincent was led away to play a game...

Memories.

Finding his brother among so many others, huddled on the cold basement floor, simply _trembling_...

" _Please get up... We need to fly, Vince... Please..."_

Gilbert felt sudden tightening in his chest, and a sense of utter darkness crossed his vision.

He failed the people he loved most.

He always failed.

"Understand that, Raven?" he snapped. "This can't keep happening. _I won't let it happen!_ "

A twist of a darkened wing, ebony dipped in midnight.

**There is much you do not know, Gilbert Nightray. You walk blindly toward the truth and to realize everything might destroy you.**

What is the Raven talking about now? Fighting the lightheadedness, Gilbert lifted his chin and glared at the Chain's overbearing eye. The yellow orb before him blinked.

The private voice observed, **And yet... you are aware of this, aren't you...?**

More touches of feathers, more whispers of chilling wind that cut through Gilbert's clothes. Finally, the Raven, in its legion chorus, made a judgment aloud into the Abyss:

**All right. Once again, I'll be bound to that left hand.**

Was Gilbert hearing things correctly? What did the Raven mean...?

An isolated chuckle in his head.

The Raven proclaimed:

**Self-awareness….and choice…**

**Someday you will be forced to realize those two…**

A couple more feathers drifted onto his shoulders, clinging to his blood. One, darker and more crisp than the others wrapped itself along his neck, stanching the jagged cut. The Raven's eye before him looked on approvingly.

Snapping noises were overheard, and Gilbert's arms were freed. He tumbled onto his knees, his trousers soaking in blood and the nameless Abyss waters. Before him, large drops, so red they appeared almost black, dripped down onto his shoulders, into his hair, upon the ground. Gilbert knelt and cupped it in his palms.

Like some sort of deranged sacrament, he watched the Raven's blood pool in his hands.

 **Gilbert Nightray, I can grant you that self-awareness** , whispered the private voice.

"What?"

**Drink from me, and I will reveal all of yourselves unto you as I have revealed all of my selves.**

The Raven's blood had an oily sheen to it. Gilbert saw his reflection and it morphed abruptly. A hedged garden, a bright day. Then, Gilbert saw himself as a child, running along a gravel path and dressed in finery.

" _You're It!" echoed little Gil, laughing. "Come and catch me now, Vince!"_

_A tiny golden-haired child in a long dressing gown stumbled after him down the path. "Hey!" he cried with touching indigence."Not fair, big brother!"_

_Little Vince tackled him and the two tumbled onto the garden's lawn._

_Vince hit him playfully across his shoulders. "You're It, you're It, you're a million times It!" A giggle before Vince leapt away with Gil in pursuit. The two children disappeared around a corner of a hedge, their voices like bells._

Gilbert gasped as the memory swirled and vanished. An distant ache formed in his chest where a forgotten hollowness resided. He never even knew how much it ached until then.

**Your past selves lay within. They can all be yours.**

"I..." Gilbert shook his head. No – to drink was to enslave himself to the Chain and to commit himself to damnation. "I... I can't."

**But your past holds the strength you seek. Don't you want this power, Gilbert Nightray?**

Again, the blood swirled and now it was Oz, grabbing hold of his hand one sunny day years ago as Gilbert struggled with a brimming picnic basket.

" _Let's go!" he smiled. "The best spot is on the hill up ahead."_

_Young Ada ran ahead of them, her untied hair flying. "Silly boys, hurry up!"_

Tears formed at the corners of Gilbert's eyes. A consoling feather brushed against his cheek.

**You stand to gain so much. Drink, and you'll have it all again. Your old memories, your old friends, your old life.**

Gilbert raised his palms and stared at the Raven's offering, which steamed faintly as it congealed. He looked at the Chain's single eye and grimaced.

"You're lying," he spat bitterly. "You're saying knowing the truth is the same as changing my past. But you're mistaken, Raven. I can never regain my old life. I've changed too much for that."

**Hmm. So be it.**

As Gilbert poured the stream of blood onto the amulet around his neck, the Raven retorted, **Only remember that I offered you complete self-knowledge and you had refused me. I will not offer this again...**

xxxxxxx

Vincent had no idea how slow time could move until experiencing those tense hours during Gilbert's trial. He counted its passage by the appearance of Joseph or Susie, who'd peek around the corner of the stairwell with offers to bring a tray of something to tide them over. The Duke, thinking of propriety, eventually had a small table, chairs, and settings brought down for mid-afternoon tea. They passed the meal in silence, except for the uncle-in-law plunking sugar cubes into his cup and the occasional snap of a biscuit from one of the others. Fred started sharing stories about the latest news from abroad, knowing full well that people only half-listened.

"That Raven ejected me in less than three minutes, but they felt like days," Fred commented lightly at tail-end of their refreshments. "I suppose to Gilbert, these hours have become years."

 _Shut up, you overstuffed fool,_ Vincent thought. That Nightray fop had no idea what the real Abyss was like; he had no right to talk about horror as if sharing ladies' gossip.

The comment nagged even more after the food was put away and they remained smoking and nursing tumblers of scotch. What a parody of leisure – enjoying themselves as if lounging on a Saturday afternoon, not waiting tensely for a monster or a corpse to be thrown out of the black gate looming over them.

But what if Gilbert never emerged? What if his seconds became their years instead?

Vincent's insides tightened at the thought. Even if he had to wait another five years like the last time, he will, or even more...

Vincent put down his untouched glass and wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Maybe I should go in," he said. The four glanced at him.

"What good would that do?" the uncle-in-law smirked, lighting his second pipe of tobacco. "Unless it was to fetch the body."

Before Vincent could react, a bloodied arm emerged from the shadow of the Doorway. All of them gave a start from their seats. For a second, Vincent saw Zai's shadow stretch unusually toward the threshold before shrinking to normal.

Gilbert stumbled out of the Doorway to the Abyss.

Vincent ran forward. "Gilbert! You're covered in blood!"

A weak murmur. "Don't worry... not all of it's mine..."

His older brother was a ruin. Dark stains covered his front; his arms were smeared almost to the elbows; his neck was a torn mess of damp silk. Black feathers stuck in the ooze that settled on his shoulders.

Gilbert took four steps before going down on both knees with a sickening crack. Vincent ran to his side, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he lay Gilbert on the stone floor. His brother had a fist pressed against his chest and blinked up at him, tiredly. "I have it, Vince."

Behind him, he heard the Duke tell Fred to fetch the servants and call for the doctor.

Vincent stared at his brother. "Damn that Raven, damn him, damn him..."

"I have the contract," Gilbert repeated in his exhaustion and cracked opened his palm. The blood had dried on his gloves, turning the delicate lambskin hard and stiff. There was the amulet mirror, shining red, the black seal etched in the thick glass.

Suddenly, Zai was beside them, black leather gloves gripping Gilbert's outstretched hand. "So it's true," he said softly as he stared at the blood amulet.

"Don't touch him!" Vincent cried, pulling Gilbert away. Zai Vessalius appraised him with arched eyebrows.

"You have no idea how significant this event is, boy," the nobleman said stonily.

"I bet I know more than you do, good sir," Vincent replied.

Zai got to his feet and turned to the Duke. "Lord Barnard, I request that we take Gilbert back with me immediately."

The Duke gave a start. "What? He's just barely returned to us."

"All the more important for me to go to Pandora. We need to put him under observation as soon as possible."

"Can't you see that Gil's hurt?" Vincent retorted. He angled his brother's head to the side and saw the sticky ebony feather plastered along his neck. Gilbert's blood had started to scab over the feather, sealing it against his skin. Vincent brushed his hand along the wound and his brother flinched.

"Don't... talk... as if I'm not here..." he said. He glanced over at Zai and the Duke and said through gritted teeth, "I must inform Lord Barma that the Raven is mine."

The uncle-in-law gave a dry chuckle. "You think you are suited to meet the Lord in your state?" He turned to Zai. "As excited as we all are at this moment, I advise that we keep Gilbert here under our supervision."

"Under _my_ supervision," Vincent corrected.

The Duke replied, "We won't exclude you from anything, Vincent," while his brother-in-law cut in, "Barnard, the ward'll only get in our way."

"Joseph, over here," Fred directed from the stairwell. The house steward and several others followed the Nightray heir down, carrying towels and a long board. "We need to make a makeshift stretcher; he can't walk on his own."

Vincent snapped, "I can escort him upstairs."

"Vince, stop acting childish," Fred replied sternly. "He could have a severe neck injury."

Joseph went down on one knee and gently took hold of Vincent's shoulders. "Calm down, young master," he said kindly. "We all want what's best for your brother."

 _No, not all of us._ Vincent smiled, "Of course, Joseph. I'd rather be sure that Gilbert isn't put under any additional stress."

Meanwhile, Zai pleaded his case. "Pandora has the best medical care in the country. We don't know how the Raven's powers are going to manifest themselves. We must act swiftly to keep him safe."

Uncertainty crossed the Duke's face. "This is a critical time, Zai. We don't want to besmirch my family's chances now."

"Exactly, Barnard. Wouldn't it be terrible if Gilbert were to succumb to illness before any other Pandora officials can affirm his right to the Raven?" To one of the servants, he ordered, "Fetch me my carriage."

"Father," Vincent said, falling into that same tactic of kinship that Gilbert had used previously, "Don't tell me you think Gilbert's safer without us?"

The Duke's mouth turned into a thin line as he weighted the options. "We can all go to Pandora then," Duke Nightray compromised. He exchanged glances with both Zai and Fred. "Isn't that fair?"

"My horses are the swiftest, and we don't need any other weight to hinder us," Zai advised. "I suggest that I bring him myself."

"Nonsense," Fred scoffed, "You know my diplomatic carriage can outrace Pandora's any day."

The uncle-in-law fumed. "I can't believe you're foolish enough to have the ward travel tonight," he said. "He needs to rest. Here."

Meanwhile, Joseph and Vincent draped a clean sheet over the sawboard and carefully moved Gilbert onto it. Vincent clung to his brother's right hand as Joseph and another servant lifted him up.

His brother muttered, "Inform Lord Barma... not... Zai..."

"I will, brother." Vincent pressed the back of his ruined glove to his forehead.

"And tell... Break... to get over here... I want to report to him when..."

Laying a finger on Gil's lips, Vincent said, "Shush. Don't strain yourself." His brother narrowed his eyes for a moment and rolled his head to the side to shake off the gesture before letting his eyes close.

Vincent turned to Joseph. The man was only another servant, but the servants had always liked Gilbert. "You'll help me protect him tonight, right?" he asked in low tones.

The older man gave a grunt as he lifted the front end of the sawboard. In confidence, the house steward murmured, "You've always been more with us than with our masters." The two of them locked eyes and for a moment, Vincent appreciated how aware the man was of the complex dynamics of his family situation. How useful this doting lackey will be.

"Come on, then. Up we go to young master Gilbert's rooms." Joseph and the other house servant lifted up the makeshift stretcher and Vincent followed alongside at the swift pace. Seeing Gilbert be moved, the heated argument broke off.

"Send a messenger to Pandora; he'll get there faster before any of us," Vincent advised.

"I was going to do that," Zai replied with a grimace.

"Perfect. Then I'll attend to my brother while you do," Vincent answered as he left to go to Gilbert's rooms. Fred was leading them and the Duke and the uncle-in-law trailed close behind.

Susie was already setting up the hot towels and water with several maids in Gilbert's bedroom. Joseph and his man quickly moved Gilbert onto the bed as the maids began to strip off his blood-soaked clothing.

"The doctor's on his way," Susie informed them as she wrung out a wet cloth from one of the soapy washbasins placed nearby. Joseph directed the three noblemen toward the receiving room. "We can't be crowding the young master." Vincent caught his eye and the house steward gave a slight nod in acknowledgment before herding the protesting nobles out the bedroom door.

Vincent shut it behind him, locked it, then went quickly over to the graying matron. "Dear Susie," he whispered urgently, pulling her close. "May I have an urgent word?"

"What in heavens, young master!" She pulled away and went over to Gilbert's side, placing the cloth on his forehead.

His brother shifted and glanced at her with half-lidded eyes. He placed a hand on her wrist. "I have the contract..." he muttered a third time, then closed his eyes again.

Vincent placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her to a corner of the room as the other girls cleaned his incapacitated brother. "You've always cared about Gilbert, right?"

"Oh, not only him," Susie protested, her curls bouncing, "I have a duty to all of the Duke's family-"

"But us, but _him_ , especially-?" Vincent let fear touch his face. "Can I trust you with him?"

Susie placed a hand on his cheek; if Vincent wasn't using her, he would've recoiled from that sickening motherly gesture. "Young master, don't be fretting over that when we've got more things to tend to-"

"If you care at all about Gilbert, please grant me this one request." Vincent clasped both hands in hers. "Watch over Fred for me."

"Master Frederic?" she said, startled, "But why-?"

"Gilbert said he threatened him," Vincent lied. "That something untoward may happen if he got the contract."

"But he'd never-!" Susie gasped. "Why, that's impossible-"

"Our uncle-in-law had him say it. It's politics, I know; Fred would never harm him, but our uncle..."

Susie shook her head doubtfully, yet Vincent could see the twinge of worry on her middle-aged face. No one in the household besides the Duke and the Duchess cared much for the sniveling man. "What would you have us do?" she asked, ducking her head a bit.

Imitating her conspiratorial stance, Vincent wrapped an arm around her plump shoulders. "Only send a girl to watch our lord uncle and Fred. And report to me if they do anything, go anywhere, or in particular, send out any letters."

Susie's eyes widened. "Young master, makin' us into spies-"

"Not _spying_. Just... _noticing_. Servants are always good at that." Vincent bowed his head into her bosom, letting his hair fall forward. "Please," he said meekly, "for Gil."

He felt Susie stroke his hair tenderly and smirked to himself as she said, "Oh, young master Vincent..." Then in a louder tone, "Mary, come here."

Vincent sniffed once or twice as Susie explained "noticing" to the young girl and he lifted his head, giving a tearful smile and planting a kiss on the girl's cheek.

"At your service, young master," the girl blushed and slipped from the room.

Vincent threw his arms around the senior maid. "You're so kind to us, dear Susie."

Susie shooed him off. "Stop making a fuss over nothing," she said before taking the red-tinged washbasin in her hands. "I've got to pull a fresh one," she went on, business-like, as she slipped into the bathroom. "And you, go off and get out of those clothes. You'll frighten the doctor when he comes."

Looking down, Vincent realized that his gloves and the front of his entire outfit was stained in blood from holding Gilbert downstairs. But neither Joseph nor Susie nor even that silly wrench maid had chosen to comment...Did the two brothers look that horrifically pitiful to them?

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. How ironic to find that pity now when a hundred years beforehand looking like this evoked only madness...

Vincent came to Gilbert's bedside. How his older brother's gentleness worked better than any bribery Vince could ever pull. If Gilbert hadn't possessed a single deceitful bone in his body, Vince would've suspected him of honing the favor of the help _on purpose._

Gilbert's face and torso had been scrubbed clean and the blankets tucked beneath his armpits. That ghastly feather from the Raven remained stuck to Gilbert's wounded neck, covered loosely by a bandage.

Vincent's heart pounded in sudden recognition of something else just below on the ridge of Gilbert's collarbone. Beneath the chain's slash was the crescent moon curve of another wound. Vincent's bite mark, made the night before in ecstasy as Gilbert had thrust into him...

Inside his mind, the Dormouse asked, _so does the stupid bird have a human too now?_

Gilbert's eyes fluttered. "Vince..."

"Sleep, Gil." Vincent traced his jawline with one finger.

_does master...?_

_No, Dormouse. Go away. I'll send for you later._

_Hmpf_ , said his Chain, before scampering off.

Gilbert asked, "Did you...?"

"Yes. I'll manage things with Lord Barma and Mister Break for you." From behind the wall, Vincent could hear another argument break out between Zai, the Duke, Fred and uncle. They've all shown their cards to him. Or at least they soon will. And whatever news the help couldn't bring to him, the Dormouse surely would as soon as his enemies drifted off for the night.

"Rest, dear brother," Vincent assured. "I'll take care of everything."


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's contract with the Raven is more than what Gil had expected. In the meantime, Vincent tries to figure out Lord Zai's motivations and unexpected guests crash into the manor….

 

Dark shadows and whispers of the Raven's many selves. Blood dripping, slowly, splattering Gilbert's clothes. A thin, viscous line dribbling from the cup of his hands onto the clear blood mirror amulet. Gilbert didn't care about the wet, the raw stench, the mess that seeped through his clothes and stuck them to his skin. Perhaps it was the dizziness from his neck wound that made him not care, or that strange trance-like state which distanced his mind from his senses.

The Raven was his. Finally his.

The amulet glowed and the incuse flowed its way across the glass like sentient ink. Heat radiated off the bauble, cutting through his layered, sticky clothing into his flesh. A fiery power striking right into his heart-

Then, the burst of energy seemed to strike a wall inside him, ricocheting and hitting back against the mirror, blotching the elegant incuse design. Gilbert fell on all fours, the wind knocked out of him.

The Raven's primary eye glared.

**What is this?**

Echoes.

**He had paid...**

More eyes sprang up all around as Gilbert got to his feet. The amulet's light began to dull as the incuse started to undo itself.

"What's going on?" Gilbert gasped. Why had their contract been interrupted?

The Raven's eye focused on the many in the darkness in one rolling glare before focusing on Gil again. **This I did not foresee. None of my selves foresaw this.**

"What-!"

The eye blinked. **That you would try to deceive me.**

A scream from the Raven pierced through Gilbert's shock upon hearing the accusation. He rubbed more of the Raven's blood over the glass, but the incuse continued to unwind itself. Gods be damned, this can't be happening-

**You demand a contract with the Raven, but had offered your blood once before? How can you claim that your devotion was vowed for my service if you tried to entice another?**

"No!" Gilbert protested. "Enticed?" He nearly choked on the word in his incredulity. He ran forward, amulet in his fist as he shook it before the Raven. "You saw into me. Look again! _I did no such thing!_ "

Feathers brushed against his shoulders. Talons gripped his shoulders; Gilbert's feet left the ground; he kept his ground, staring aggressively at that wretched yellow eye. He tried to keep his head held up against the waves of pain that throbbed from his neck to his skull and the nearly crushing pressure from the Raven's grip.

For a long time, they stared at one another, the human and the Chain.

Finally, the Raven made a reluctant noise. **Your heart is true. Ignorant and blind, but true.**

When Gilbert's feet touched the floor, his legs seemed to turn to jelly and he crumpled upon knees before the jury of eyes. Another rumble shook the world of the Abyss.

**How can this be?**

**How can this be, this be, this be?** The multi-layered voice of the Raven echoed. The Chain was silent for a moment, before a giant gale blew across the blackness.

**How _dare_ someone tried to _take_ what is my right-!**

The Raven's giant head emerged, followed by its huge, menacing body. A wingspan wider than three carriages put end to end unfolded over him, sending a burst of rotted feathers into the air.

Through the saliva-coated chain that held its beak apart, the Raven cawed, **Seal our contract. Declare your soul to my selves!**

"My soul is my own." Gilbert frowned and corrected the Chain in his response. " _You_ are _mine_."

**Good enough, human.**

He scooped up drizzles of the Chain's blood and the amulet renewed its luminance. The incuse danced within the edges of the gold fame. When it was complete, a jolt of adrenaline spiked through Gilbert's weakened limbs. His head tossed upwards in the rush, eyes wide.

Sounds of a whirlwind hit his ears, loud enough for them to burst. Multitudes crawled into his flesh, buried in his bones, took over his vision. The world fractured, warped, shattered into a kaleidoscope of colored perspectives and he saw, everywhere, everything at once. A tiny figure kneeling in the watery muck, arms thrown wide. Who was that creature? How small, how pathetic –

Vision zoomed in, refocused, clarified. Closer. A human. Closer. A dying human (to him, all humans existed in various states of dying). Laughing, shoulders jostling, bloodstained palms wide, amulet hanging from gore-caked fingers and swinging in a pendulum motion.

The man that was Gilbert.

Perspective snapped into place and Gilbert, surrounded by those eyes, _his_ eyes, watching, assessing, judging-

A chorus, an avian choir:

The Chain's voice cracked the air, and Gilbert's lips mouthed the words.

**The.**

**Thief.**

**Will.**

**Be.**

**Punished.**

Blackness.

Next thing Gilbert realized, he was stumbling out of the Doorway, the amulet clutched in his left hand. He blinked in the bright lights and was surprised to see a tea party set up in the middle of the cellar. _How absurd-_ he thought as the room began to whirl around him.

"Gilbert!" cried Vincent. "You're covered in blood!"

"Don't worry... not all of it's mine..."

A blasting shock as his knees connected with the floor. Time disjointed itself, crashing down into broken puzzle pieces that contained moments which shuffled before his consciousness. One moment, there was Vincent, laying him on the ground. "I have it, Vince..."

Next, he flew. No, was carried. Hard wood supporting his spine, rising at an angle over stone step. More moments slipping in and out. Gilbert remembered vague things: of demanding to see Lord Barma, or asking Vince to get Break. He remembered being lifted and carried away. Many faces _(but few eyes, why so few eyes?)_ peering over him. A bespectacled doctor reaching out with a gloved hand and a pair of long tweezers toward his neck-

Fire. Gilbert screamed. Hands gripped his flailing limbs, restraining him.

Echoing words. "On the injury… we can't remove it…."

Eventually, the puzzle pieces snapped to form a coherent picture. Awareness returned piecemeal. Little things became noticeable. A light by his bedside. The canopy curtains. Shadows clinging to the corners. Coolness on his brow.

Gilbert pushed the washcloth from his forehead and lifted his head. The pain was gone, replaced by a stagnating fatigue that anchored his bones down onto the bed. He was bare-chested and wore only loose slacks underneath the blankets, but felt feverish.

Hearing the physician's words replay in his memory, Gil slowly raised a hand to stroke the bandage around his neck. Through the sterile cloth, he felt a series of thin ridges where the Raven ripped open his neck. The veins of Raven's feather that had stanched his wound.

"Young master Gilbert, I advise that you don't touch that."

The doctor entered from the bath, wiping his hands with a damp towel. "I see no harm in keeping the Chain's feather. It seems to seal up that nasty gash better than stitches and there are no signs of infection." He pushed up his spectacles and gave a sheepish smile. "When I tried to remove it from your neck, you nearly threw me against the wall. Not what I expect from a man lacking half the blood in his veins."

Gilbert tried to speak, but his throat, utterly raw, refused.

"Here, young master." Beside the Nightray physician came Mary, one of the younger maids, holding a heavy mug. "Hot honeyed milk 'n' herbs."

He nodded appreciatively as he took the warm mug and sipped its contents. The cascade of warmth coasted down pleasurably, and after a few more sips, he cleared his throat and rasped, "I apologize, good doctor. I wasn't completely aware of myself."

"Neither was I."

Gilbert put the mug on the bedside table. "How long….?"

"You were in the Doorway for most of the day and been out for a few hours," the maid replied. "The Duke and his family had already retired for the night, and young master Vincent finally stepped out a few minutes ago."

"He's been worrying the most," the doctor added. "We couldn't get him to go until I convinced him to change out of that bloody mess for the sake of your health. We don't know what all of that filth you brought in from the Abyss is. Lord Zai's already taken your clothes to test at Pandora."

The mention of the noble's name set Gil's teeth on edge. " _That_ man didn't leave yet?"

"No, young master. Lord Zai's been in the debate over the next step all evening."

Even the mention of Zai's name Gil's head ache. He winced, putting down the mug.

"And no one else from Pandora? Is Break on his way? Or Reim, even?"

The two exchanged glances. "It's not our place to know," Mary said demurely and Gil shook his head. "I need to send a letter. Fetch me paper."

Gilbert turned to the balcony in quiet recollection. Break teased him the other day, slipping a peanut butter-covered pinecone in the pocket of his black trench before he left. "A treat for the birdie." Gil had grimaced in response, masking his anxiety.

No need for mocking anymore. The real search can begin. With Raven at hand, they can pursue those leads into the Abyss and look for Oz…

Tall glass doors leading out to the balcony stood at the far end of his bedroom, flanked by half-sized windows that started from the waist up. The curtains had been drawn to keep the chill and the light of the waning moon from creeping through. The furthermost window by the corner of the room remained uncovered. Gilbert squinted and suddenly-

_(watching from the ceiling, peering around the corners, staring up from the floor at the scuffs on the doctor's boots, closer, the window, closer, a shadow)_

Gilbert shut his eyes, but the visions continued. _Stop, too many…_ He groaned, pinching the ridge of his nose and blinking up again.

_(closer, the glass, closer, balcony ledge, closer, a shadow)_

"Young master?" The doctor glanced up from the notes he was scribbling down in a small book. Mary reentered from the receiving room carrying pen and paper retrieved from his writing desk when she followed Gil's gaze toward the dark gap of the corner window beside her.

Through the glass, a shadowed figure-

_(closer, red cloak, closer, silver dagger…)_

xxxxxxx

 _Congratulations, big brother_ , Vincent thought as he undressed in his room.

Clothing dropped in a crimson-splattered pile on the floor amid ruined teddies, piles of books, shreds of curtains. Standing in the cool darkness of the room in the nightshirt he wore to bed the night before, Vincent kicked his ruined Pandora uniform aside (must get a new one later, he supposed), placed his scissors on the nightstand, and reached behind his pillow at the head of the bed. Thin cool silk whispered between his fingers. Vincent stroked a rough patch stained reddish black on Gilbert's shirt collar: the wound Vincent had given his brother. He bent and licked it with his tongue, tasting the rough texture.

Though he knew that Gil's success was ensured, relief expelled all of the tension that had driven Vincent mad these few past hours. Vincent pressed his nose against Gilbert's ruined nightshirt and tumbled backward on the bed, giddy as a schoolgirl.

A childish giggle escaped him. "Congrats, big brother," he repeated aloud, delighted to hear the news to his ears. "I'm so proud of my Gil." Rolling onto his stomach, he pressed the nightshirt to his chest and muttered, "We should celebrate soon." Yes, once Gilbert constitution strengthened (the doctor said Gil's blood loss would render him bedridden for a week or so, but he should recover without a problem), they will commemorate his triumph. Perhaps in Vincent's bed this time.

All Vince needed to do was shut up the scum that remained: that aristocratic pig Fred and that plain pig of an uncle-in-law, and Zai the cold bastard.

Vincent got up at the sudden thought. "Dormouse."

_yes master?_

"Are they asleep yet?"

From underneath the canopy, the Chain manifested itself. Nudging its head from beneath the drapery, it twitched its nose. The Dormouse sensed sleeping bodies like how a real rodent took to sniffing out a good slice of cheese.

_not yet_

When they were, he'd send the Dormouse to peer into their Borderlands, to see if he could unlock any hidden conspiracies lurking in their subconscious. Until then, he'd return to Gil's rooms, make sure he was comfortable…. Vincent rubbed the nightshirt against his cheek. A twinge from his thigh caught Vincent's attention: the self-inflicted puncture from his scissors. He'd forgotten it in all the commotion. The Dormouse had noticed as well; it glided down to settle next to Vincent on the bed.

_i'm hungry_

Vincent hiked up his nightshirt until the stab wound was exposed and the Dormouse's tongue – small and delicately pink – darted up to lick at the scabbing injury.

Vincent's revulsion to the Chain's entitlement to his blood had faded since the Chain first touched him in the Abyss. Absent-mindedly, he stroked the Dormouse from the scruff of its neck, along its rounded back, and across its furry haunch; the Chain flesh felt solid, instead of its usual phantasmal mess of webs and mist. Vincent wondered whether its corporeality was linked to feeding.

The Chain's touch, gentle and ticklish, made his skin tingle pins and needles for a while afterward, but had no other lasting detrimental effect. And the Dormouse's work would sterilize the wound. No need for the doctor to look at it when he had a much more important patient to attend to. When Vincent left, the Nightray physician was still examining that nasty Raven feather that got stuck in Gilbert's wound. What a vicious Chain; Vincent hoped the mark wouldn't leave a scar.

Out of curiosity, he asked, "Dormouse, what do you know of the Raven's dealings with its contractors? Is that feather typical of his mark?"

The Dormouse gave a low hum of pleasure as it ate. Its muscular tail settled across Vincent's shoulders, a cord of sinewy ice.

_the stupid bird is territorial_

_he doesn't like to share_

Once the Chain finished, Vincent got a scrap of torn cloth from a recently-deceased pillowcase and wrapped it up in a makeshift bandage. As usual, a settled contentment flowed through him after feeding his Chain. Having the Dormouse lick so close to his intimate places only further motivated Vincent to ponder on the myriad of ways Gilbert can celebrate conquering the Raven with him. He leaned into the pillows and arched out the kinks in his spine, one hand lingering across the Dormouse's fur.

In a fit of whimsy, Vincent grabbed a pink ribbon that had once adorned the neck of a ruined teddie and grabbed the tip of the Dormouse's tail. With a quick flourish, he tied the scrap around it into a bow.

"There," he said playfully. "You look almost adorable."

The Dormouse raised its tail and tilted the tip this way and that in curious examination. Lowering the appendage above its snout, the Chain sniffed the ribbon and angled its head.

 _adorable_ , it tittered.

Squeaking, the Dormouse dived underneath the covers as if suddenly embarrassed by its amusement. The sheets barely covered its windup key. Vincent slapped its visible haunch and pressed Gilbert's nightshirt to his face once more, letting the scent of raw sweat excite him, before tucking the shirt beneath his pillow.

"Am I interrupting something?" He glanced up from the mattress to see Lord Zai Vessalius standing at the door.

Hiding his surprise with indifference, Vincent straightened the hem of his nightshirt and grabbed for his scissors from the bedside. "Lord Zai. Aren't you the scandalous gentleman, intruding on people's bedrooms in the middle of the night?"

The Dormouse's head popped between the blankets.

 _master?_ it whispered in his head.

 _Stay there,_ Vincent ordered. Trying to retain his poise, Vincent languidly rose for the bed and commented, "It's quite rude to interrupt a man while he's in a state of undress."

"My apologizes. Your door was ajar. I should have thought to knock." The Vessalius nobleman remained in the threshold like a vampire waiting for permission.

"I won't keep you then." Crossing over to his wardrobe, Vincent nonchalantly took out a long jacket. He put on the coat and reached for the silver revolver that was hanging out of view from its leather holster. Eyes narrowing, he pointed it at Zai when he turned to face him once more. "My brother is not the only keen shot in this family," he threatened. "Why don't we get comfortable in the next room?"

Lord Zai gazed at Vincent calmly and retreated into the receiving room. Vincent followed, weapon trained on the man's heart as he gracefully lowered himself on the divan and gestured for Zai to take the high-backed chair across from him. The Dormouse floated above Vincent, its tail coiled around one of the divan's sloping arm rests.

"So the Dormouse shows his true colors," the older man commented indifferently.

"Don't act dumb, Lord Zai," Vincent said, crossing one knee over the other. "We all know that at least two of our tea party guests downstairs wanted my brother dead as soon as he emerged from the Doorway triumphant. I don't take chances when it comes to family."

He said, "I believe we have the same interests at heart concerning Gilbert." Zai extended a palm to Vincent and the Dormouse shifted its sightless gaze, unfurling its tail in reaction. The nobleman withdrew, unperturbed.

"What of him?"

Zai hesitated. "I have... a message of some significance for him."

"Then why are you here?"

"This message concerns yourself too. And I have… contacts that may prove helpful for you to meet."

Vincent clicked off the safety. "I don't care about your message or your contacts." He watched his shadow on the ground and chose his words carefully. Did Lord Zai realize he was being watched? Or was he working with the Rainsworths? He didn't know the standing of this mysterious, scarred man and the thought of not knowing kept him on edge. "My brother abhors you and that is not a feeling he often has."

"I've done nothing to offend Gilbert, I'm sure-"

"I said don't play dumb. You did more than a great offense to someone he holds dearly."

Zai made a disgusted noise. "The thing means nothing to me."

 _The thing._ Vincent's grip on the revolver handle tightened. What a despicable man.

A memory of his own mother came to mind.

_Grown-up people talking grown-up matters as a hunchbacked man carried little Vince and Gil, kicking and screaming, to the freak show caravan._

" _These things aren't my children."_

Gilbert was right. This man deserved to die.

Vincent knew instantly that this man was not to be trusted, only used. Just like everyone else.

So if Zai wanted to get rid of his child, and yet he was interested in Gil... Gil would never agree to work with such a man... Would Lady Cheryl, on the other hand, be attuned to Lord Zai's feelings about Oz? Perhaps not, but she was terribly close to Lord Barma, and he would do anything to attain this information about people – and Chains – for himself.

So, if the Rainsworth wench was being sent to spy on Lord Zai as opposed to the Vessalius nobleman working in league with the Rainsworths, and Lord Zai sought to speak to his brother about something "significant" (and that "significance" did not imply him arresting or killing Gilbert under the Pandora banner)...

Would it be more practical to help him or to dispose of him?

And the final, most intriguing question: what motivated Lord Zai's such outright disgust toward his own flesh and blood?

This was information Vincent needed to know before his next calculation. But he couldn't have Zai couldn't reveal it now, not unless he wanted the Rainsworth's spy to hear... No, he wouldn't give those nobles that advantage.

Vincent took out a calling card and a pen from his jacket pocket (a thing he learned from mingling in high society was to always have your calling card and a writing implement on hand) and wrote something on the back.

_We are being observed by Rainsworth's spy._

_Meet me at Pandora at midnight in the rose garden in three days' time._

_Nod if you understand._

He offered it to Zai. "My contact information," he said coolly. "I will get in touch with you."

"I will not be ordered about by a mere boy-"

With a glance, Vincent _gestured_ ever so slightly down on the calling card.

Zai took the card, scanned it, and folded the paper with a curt bob of his head. "Fine then." He opened his mouth to add something else, but that was when the echoing gunshot interrupted their conversation.

From the other side of the manor. Gilbert's rooms.

* * *

A/N: Long chapter is looong; I actually had to split this one in half, because so much action is happening. Expect Chapter 5 to be out soon!


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threats to Gilbert's life are mounting, and a duo in red cloaks finally make an appearance.

_(red cloak, silver dagger)_

A sharp pain lanced through Gilbert's head; he pressed the heel of one hand to his temple, wincing. Gilbert's eyes went to the wardrobe across the room where his holster was stored. Too far. Immediately, the other hand went to the side drawer of his bedside table. He yanked the drawer open and pushed back the side panel.

The type of pistols he carried usually came in a set. Nobody wondered why he only carried a single on his person. There was a reason.

In one fluid move, Gilbert extracted his second gun from the hidden panel of the bedside drawer and fired through the window.

Glass shattered. Mary, who was less than a foot away from the shot, screamed, dropping the writing implements she had brought in from the room next door.

"Go!" Gilbert shouted and she and the doctor fled.

Outside, the taller figure of the two grasped the shorter one by the hood and ferried them away from the windows. Gilbert emptied his gun as he fired over and over, breaking several more panels of glass in the process. Breathing heavily, feeling his blood pulse against the wound in his neck, Gilbert collapsed against the pillows, draping his gun arm over his eyes.

 _Them. Already,_ Gilbert thought warily as he saw Fred and the Duke barrage into the room.

xxxxxxx

Vincent beat Lord Zai to the door was they both dashed out into the hallway and sprinted across the mansion. They past by the open study door and saw the tall figures of Fred and the Duke and the bobbing form of uncle up ahead of them. When Vincent entered Gilbert's bedroom, he noticed Fred on the bedroom balcony with the uncle, scanning the area. Fred, too, had drawn his own pistol that Vincent never noticed he had before, but it was obviously too dark outside from him to fire properly. The wench maid cowered in the family doctor's arms as the Duke questioned him.

"He- he barged right in through the balcony," the physician stuttered to the Duke.

Gilbert sat propped up by pillows, adding additional bullets to the chamber.

"Who?" Vincent glanced out the window to see figures dashing across the lawn. Assassins, already?

"They were Baskervilles," Gilbert said tensely. "I saw their red cloaks!"

Zai cursed aloud in the other room.

Gilbert noticed Zai through the doorway and turned the gun toward him. His expression changed entirely and his voice dropped. "And _you_ – you hurt my Master!"

Zai stared in shock for a split second, and then scoffed. "You would not."

Gilbert drew back the hammer-

"Gil!" Vincent yanked his gun arm aside. The misfired shot hit the ceiling, sending plaster falling on everyone's heads. The wench maid gave another scream, burying her head in the physician's chest. The uncle, outside, yelped at the noise and shouted, "Barnard, control your ward!"

" _Kill him..._ " Gilbert growled. Vincent stared, wide-eyed. He'd never seen that expression on his brother's face before: pure, unadulterated rage.

"Lord Zai!" Vincent shouted behind him. "Get out!"

The Vessalius noble announced, "I shall go after the intruders," before slipping past them and onto the balcony.

"My Lordship!" exclaimed the doctor and he, Mary, and the Duke joined the other men outside. Vincent looked over to see the nobleman leap over the stone railing and land on one of the lower roofs. Vincent emerged onto the landing to aim his silver pistol at the attackers, but already, they were out of range. Instead, the group watched the Vessalius noble scramble down through the tiered levels of the rooftops of the manor before landing on the back lawn and sprinting after the two red-caped figures.

Vincent slipped his pistol into his jacket pocket besides his scissors. The man was in impressive health to be running after the two in such a manner. But will the Baskervilles be caught?

He returned by his brother's side, seeing Gilbert pressing his hands to his temples. "Oh gods..." he muttered. "Oh gods, oh gods, what'd I almost do? What I'd almost do?"

"No one was hurt, brother." Vincent removed the gun from Gil's lap and tucked it back into the side drawer. He knew that Gil had always kept his second revolver tucked there behind a hidden panel, just in case (they _were_ wards of the Nightray household after all, and Gilbert had picked up some survival skills over the years.)

Gilbert didn't seem to hear him. "I vowed to myself that I wouldn't do it... not before Oz returned..."

"That's it, we need to go to Pandora immediately," the Duke declared behind them. "Mary, ready Gilbert's things."

Both brothers raised their heads. "Are you crazy?" Vince demanded. "The attack's barely over."

"We not as secure as I had hoped," the Duke grimaced.

"Agreed." Fred reentered the room, his boots crunching over shards of glass. "My carriage would be the best for this occasion. Mary, help Gilbert downstairs."

"I'll not be transported like so much luggage," Gilbert struggled to sit up before slumping into the pillows. The wench stepped forward until Vincent gave her a sharp look, making her hesitate. "You're too weak," Vincent said.

And he didn't trust Fred. Not that man with the too-smooth hands and that too-sincere tone.

The Duke noted Vincent's comment. "I'd rather have Zai return before we set off for Pandora," he reconsidered.

The uncle, in the meantime, huffed in the corner and threw his hands up into the air. "Madness! I don't want to travel the roads at night. There are others prowlers besides assassins out there."

"My lords!" Joseph and two serving men rushed into the receiving room. "Is everyone safe?"

"Yes, Joseph," the Duke replied. "You heard the commotion?"

Joseph surveyed the state of everyone. "How do you mean, my Lordship?"

"The attack!" the uncle spluttered. "Sweet gods, man, you didn't hear the shots?"

"Bloody sakes! Pardon my language," Joseph said hurriedly. "Then there's more than one group."

The Duke raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I've been to the gardens. The guards found some bodies, my Lordship. They appear to be armed."

Now it was Fred's turn to swear. "More Baskervilles?"

"These aren't Baskervilles, no, but you might want to see for yourself." Joseph paused. "It may be best that the doctor comes along to assess the state of these men."

Indecision settled in. Vincent watched everyone else exchange glances uncertainly before the Duke issued his orders. "Fred, you stay with Gilbert and Vincent. Marcel, come with me. Joseph, wake the rest of the household and organize a sweep of the grounds."

"Father, I don't want you and Uncle investigating by yourselves," Fred protested.

"We'll be fine," the Duke replied. "Gilbert should be our utmost concern." The final word said, he and his brother-in-law departed, the house steward and the family physician in tow.

Vincent eyed Fred and took a seat on Gilbert's bed, being careful of the broken glass that littered the floor by his boots.

The Nightray heir snapped, "Stop glaring, Vince. It's not like _I_ sent the Baskervilles." He perched on the far end, facing the doorway, as he holstered his pistol in a concealed place beneath his jacket (Vincent noted) and propped his fist on his chin. "Someone, though, must've leaked this information. No one on the outside knew that Gilbert's trial was being conducted. We tried to keep the ordeal as secret as possible."

"Who else knew?" Vince asked tersely. Him, the blasted uncle, Lord Zai, Break….

"That's not the most important concern." Gilbert frowned. "Someone should send for extra help from Pandora."

Fred sighed. "Lord Zai sent a messenger earlier today and we have not heard word from that one yet. Sending another one at top speed would take another couple hours."

 _Unless the Rainsworth spy used Equus to give an early warning,_ thought Vincent.

However, did that wench continue to tail Lord Zai? Or did she have enough sense to leave him and send for help?

Fred pursed his thin lips and faced them once more. "We should go to Pandora ourselves," he suggested lowly. "Only us. My men have been at ready by the servant's entrance for several hours. No one would know."

The suggestion triggered tenseness across Vincent's shoulders. "Why not tell the Duke?"

"Father's been jockeying about all night," Fred said. "You should've heard him in his study. He's too close to the situation, fearful about losing the Raven to take a firm stand. All he's trying to do is appease Lord Zai and then Uncle Marcel starts complaining, which results in Father losing his resolve." Fred leaned forward. "I don't mean to be presumptuous about anyone, but… Lord Zai seems terribly intent upon isolating your person from the rest of us, Gilbert. It's…unsettling."

Gilbert jumped at the bait. "Of course," he agreed. "I never trusted the man from the start."

Vincent tried to read between Fred's words. Was the Nightray heir proposing some sort of alliance? Or was he plotting to get Gilbert somehow? He had also been so adamant at being the one to solely accompany his dear brother to Pandora….

Fred caught the cool expression on Vincent's face. "He's more absorbed in Chain research than Father or even you, Vincent," he justified. "I presume that he views Gilbert as nothing but an object of study."

 _As much as you view Gil as an object of politics,_ Vincent criticized silently. _No one cares about Gilbert like I do._

"A man who relinquishes his own title to roam the country like a nomad does not appreciate the responsibilities of nobility," Fred reasoned, "and insofar, he does not grant the Nightray name the respect it deserves. It's sickening how much Father clings to his every word as if they were stamped in gold."

Unexpectedly, their eldest brother took Gilbert and Vincent's hands in each of his own. "Listen," he said solemnly, taking a moment to look one man in the eye and then the other. "This is a crucial moment for our Dukedom. We must present a strong front to embrace our rightful place. We cannot let any other Dukedom try to dictate our actions, especially Vessalius."

Fred never did such things before, not for all the years the stiff-backed man graced the manor with his presence. Frederic Nightray was a person of polished detached statements, without this undercurrent of urgent passion fueling his tongue. Vincent didn't know what to make of it. Now that Gilbert had contracted the Raven, was their family dynamic held in more esteem? Did they suddenly matter as kinsman now that their ties to the Nightray honor were rock-solid?

If this were the case, perhaps the Nightray heir was a much simpler man than Vincent thought.

Perhaps.

"You are only boys, I understand," Fred said. He squeezed their palms slightly. "I am much older than you, and more knowledgeable in the ways that men prey upon one another. It's a nasty game of chess, but if we maneuver the pieces right, the king shall be ours. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

 _Oh no, dear Fred, I can't simply comprehend you through that thick layer of paternalism slapped over your words_ , sneered Vincent silently. He was sure _he_ was the superior chessmaster.

Vincent internally cringed to see Gilbert nodding enthusiastically. Maybe it was because Fred played the right moves, speaking of Lord Zai so disparagingly.

"Gilbert," Fred addressed, "you are the herald of our black blade. I've thought about your desire to speak to Lord Barma in person, and, despite Father and Uncle's misgivings, I've decided it would be the right action to do to keep our family's standing in Pandora. Do you agree?"

He replied instantly, "I do."

"Gil shouldn't push himself." Vincent laid a hand on Gilbert's other wrist. "Safer here than the roads, brother."

"You have the Raven, don't you?" Fred appealed. "What kind of contractor shies away from asserting his position in society?"

"Has it ever mattered to _us_ what society thinks?" Vincent hissed, referring solely to Gil and himself. His fingers wrapped around Gil's unresponsive hand. " _You_ know why you wanted the Raven, Gil. You know how important it is _for you_ , damn everything else."

Gil knew full well the games that they've been playing in this household so he could save his precious former master. As much as Vincent despised acknowledging the brat, he was the only reason Vince could think of to prevent Gil from behaving so rashly.

Fred looked almost aghast at Vincent's words. "What are you implying, Vincent?"

"He's talking nonsense," Gilbert covered quickly. "Don't doubt the reason why I came to this family, Fred. I've been grateful, always, for the care your father bestowed upon me and my brother."

The lie came out so smoothly past Gilbert's lips that Vincent was taken back by his brother's wiliness.

"Then you've decided to go?" asked the older man.

Gil pulled his hand from Vincent's grip a bit forcefully. "I understand your concern," he said, eyes downcast. "But at the moment the most important thing is to seek out protection from Pandora, instead of waiting here like sitting ducks. There are people there that I must speak to about my particular concerns too."

The impatient idiot! He wants to run to the stupid clown for advice and pander for security from that bouncing ball Lord Barma! Instead of acting sensibly….

"Vince, you have to stay here and cover for us," Gilbert ended. Fred gripped his hand to help him rise from the bed.

Vincent remained immobile. " _What_ -?"

"They might think something terrible happened should all three of us be gone," Gilbert said. "You can explain to them why we had to go when they return."

"Gil, what are you saying?"

_You're leaving me behind to trail after that manipulative dog!_

"I trust you."

Gil's sincerity stunned him: this was unusual, for his brother to surprise him twice over in minutes. "But…"

"Please. For me." Gilbert was not well at all, his cheeks red and golden eyes bright and hazy from fever. Sweat dabbed his forehead. His uncovered chest emphasized how sallow his skin was, the scar a dark slash. The pajama trousers the maids dressed him in, made of fine cotton, draped low upon the angles of his hips. Despite knowing acutely how sick his brother was, at the same time, looking at how illness defined Gil's fragile beauty swayed him.

"All… right."

Gilbert reached out and tousled his hair with a half-smile. Vincent blinked. Gil hadn't done that to him in years. The gesture made Vince feel suddenly very small and very young. A warm feeling fluttered in his chest.

"Thank you," Gil replied softly.

Fred cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "We must depart," he said, presenting a suit of clothes to Gil. His brother quickly changed while Vincent got his bearings again. "We'll take the back roads around the forest side of the estate, where most don't go. We shouldn't be detected that way."

Gilbert nodded as he fastened his leg holster. The bandage loosened and Vincent saw the Raven's mark.

He reached out to touch Gil's shoulder. His brother turned and, much to Vincent's rising elation, he permitted Vince to tighten his linen bands. Vincent quickly knotted the wrappings over that black sign. _Evil bird,_ he thought, _to scar my brother this way…_ His fingers lingered along Gilbert's neck until his brother stepped forward.

"Be careful, brother."

Gil nodded, placing his hat over his head before the two exited the room. All the while, the Dormouse had been floating silently in the far corner of the room. Once they left, it spoke.

_hmmmmmm_

_i could have put the humans to sleep for you, master_

_why did you let them go?_

"I…" There were reasons. To see what Fred Nightray's plans were, and how much Vincent could manipulate them. To have them speak to Lord Barma before Lord Zai could. And maybe that ridiculous motive Fred had: to reassert the family position and send a message to whomever may threaten them that the Nightray Dukedom was a force to be reckoned with.

But those would be lies. Vincent let them leave because Gilbert wanted to leave. No matter how stupid his brother's rationale was, Gilbert had asked in such a sweet way.

Vincent couldn't refuse his brother when he was like that.

But he could still stop him.

Vincent waited a couple minutes before leaving himself, racing to the rear gardens. His boots thudded across the carpeted floors as he sprinted down the stairs and around the corner to the back of the house-

\- before running into the group he sought in the middle of the hallway. The Duke and the uncle looked grim, the family physician almost sick, and several servants behind them carried oblong bundles stained with red.

Vincent's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"A pair of assassins was found," the Duke explained. "Or at least, what was left of them."

xxxxxxx

Gilbert followed Fred's slim form through the shadowed hallways. They were taking the servant's corridors, a series of smaller, more obscure paths and cramped stairwells that acted as shortcuts from one end of the manor to the other. Gil knew these as well as the ones at the Vessalius manor, but was surprised that Fred was aware of these passageways.

There was an assurance to the Heir Apparent's motions that reminded Gilbert of a discipline outside his diplomatic training. He didn't know much about the eldest Nightray. Over the years, he remained that figure of distant authority, acting more like the Duke Nightray's peer and not merely his eldest son, though he was. Fred had military training as a youth, Gilbert recalled, from Dodgson's Point, the top martial academy in the country, before he served his trial for the Raven. Perhaps that was what guided the precision of his moves.

Before crossing into the kitchen, Fred paused and raised a hand behind him. He scanned the area to be sure it was clear, and signaled for Gilbert to follow as he crossed the empty room. Fred unbarred the servant rear door and, silently, the two slipped into the night.

Their hurried pace had exhausted the last reserves of Gil's energy, and he slumped against the brick wall once they made it outside.

"Young Gilbert," Fred said, "Hold on. I'll call my men." Unhooking a dead lantern that hung outside the doorway, Fred reached into his pocket and took out an oil-wicked lighter. A spark flashed, the burning lantern was raised, and in the distance, another light flickered from the wooded area a hundred meters distant.

Another nod. Fred put the light out and the pair jogged across the stable-yard to where the sleek black and red-trimmed carriage awaited. Fred, being the Head Delegate and Personal Secretary to the nation's Ambassador, had the royal house's crest and the seal of diplomatic office painted onto the side doors.

"You can rest here," Fred assured him, reaching to pull open the carriage door.

Gilbert glanced up at the waiting horses and the coachman, who was strangely silent, not even uncovering his lantern for a moment to give a quick nod of respect, as what staff was wont to do. In fact, Gilbert realized, the coachman wasn't even at attention, but slumped over.

While facing Gilbert, Fred opened the carriage door, but as soon as he did, he revealed a masked stranger, who pointed a rifle downwards and-

"Fred!" Gilbert seized his adopted brother and threw them both to the ground. The boom of the hunting rifle echoed. A streak of hotness flared along the edge of one ear before a bit of dirt exploded beside them where the buckshot hit.

Heart racing, Gilbert stumbled to his feet as Fred fired his gun from his spot. He missed and the rifleman whirled around, grey cloak swirling as he turned, and exited from the other side of the carriage.

"No!" He wasn't going to let this one get away! Gilbert scrambled up the carriage steps and crossed the box to the open door on the other side. In the night's blackness, he could barely make out the racing figure, yet-

The world slowed-

His hearing sharpened-

The immediate darkness lightened-

And the eyes, the eyes that were never slept, that watched and judged-

_(tracking from the woods, peering down from the ceiling, finding a vantage point, closer, retreating footsteps, crunching gravel, closer, flapping cape, closer, closer, closer-)_

Gilbert raised his gun arm once more.

The bullet fired. Fifty meters ahead, the assassin went down.

 _What did I-?_ Gilbert, stared at his firing hand, stunned. He _did_ shoot, right? That had been his line of sight, his pulling of the trigger, his cool collectiveness and concentration driving the mark home…

 **Good job, master** , complimented the Raven softly.

As swift as that moment had been, his surroundings reverted to before, all dulled senses and sounds and the night falling on them all…

A hand clasped his shoulder and Gilbert, startled, saw Fred by his side. The older man rubbed his bruised bicep where he had slammed against the ground. "So there was a third." he muttered, lowly.

"That wasn't a Baskerville."

Shouts from the manor. "Frederic!" yelled the Duke, raising a lantern above as he sprinted toward them. The others ran to catch up. "You rash fool!"

"I? Rash? It is better to act than to become paralyzed by indecision." Fred clambered down the carriage steps. "We were lucky. Gil's got the man. It seems like there was a third."

Gilbert descended behind him and went to check on the coachman. The man was alive, thank the gods, but Gilbert's palm came away stained from the bleeding gash on his head. He motioned for the servants to lower him from the seat and instructed a couple of them to un-harness the horses and return them to the stables. Practical matters, but necessary. He had to focus on getting everything in order and not think about the darker alternatives to that scenario he had confronted. If Gilbert hadn't noticed the gunman in time, if he hadn't pulled them down to safety then, then… He glanced at his shaking fingertips. What did the Raven _do_ to him?

"Brother." Vincent's arms enfolded Gilbert again as he buried his head between Gil's shoulder blades. "Didn't I say not to go?" Through his coat, Gilbert sensed his younger brother _trembling_.

The Duke grabbed Fred's injured upper arm and growled, "I will _not_ let anyone in this household fall into any further danger. Inside. Now."

Instead of reacting to the Duke's grip, Fred replied, "Father, I'm fine-"

"Something is out there killing people!" blustered the uncle-in-law, who was flanked by several of the household staff.

"Not only us?" Fred asked.

The Duke shoved Fred before him roughly. "You'll see."

Vincent let go of his embrace and slipped his arm into the crook of Gil's elbow. "Hurry," he urged.

Inside, Gilbert, Fred and their escorts entered the front foyer. Two crimson-smeared bundles lay of the ground. The Nightray physician and Joseph were about to lower the sheets over one of them when the Duke snapped, "No, show them."

The physician glanced away wordlessly.

"Gil, don't look," Vincent whispered. Gilbert never saw Vincent act so vulnerable before. In a gesture he sensed as vaguely familiar, Gilbert looped an arm around Vincent's shoulder and let him bury his head against his neck. His breath blew, warm and nostalgic, on his skin. Faintly, he heard a murmur: "They're all dollies…"

The sheet lifted.

Immediately, Gilbert covered his mouth in shock and sudden nausea. Beside the Duke, Fred exclaimed, "Blessed gods in all the heavens! What…"

Too much blood. Too many wounds. Slashes deep enough to expose muscle and bone. Drilled holes between the eyes. An exposed fractured mass where the bullets had burst out from their scalps.

"They shot each other," the physician assessed. "That I can be sure of at least."

"But everything else?" Fred inquired. "After the rest of the… injuries were made…."

"Who would do this?" Gilbert whispered.

xxxxxxx

A mile away, deep in the Nightray forests, a soft spot in the grassy knoll trembled. Bits of earth and small stones flew in the air as a large badger emerged from the ground, hauling himself up with a toss of his head. A dirty-smeared note was clenched between his jaws. Fang let his Chain crawl up his arm and settle at his usual spot on his shoulder before taking the slip of folded paper from his mouth. "Hello Tove. What have we here?"

The Baskerville unfolded it to see the looping script from their newest ally.

_Being tailed by a noble spy._

_Will send word to meet later._

_Tell Zwei to stop acting like a fool until then._

And the real news:

_The Raven has returned to the world._

"Does Lord Zai send good news?" a husky voice cackled. Fang sent a criticizing glance over at Zwei, who sharpened the edge of a silver dagger on a welting stone. Zwei's crimson cape did not mask the blood splatters over the cloth, which were turning a darker brown as they dried.

"Why did I let you go up there?" Fang berated. "We should have waited until Zai gave the signal before attempting to fetch the next vessel!"

"Zwei was so impatient!" Zwei stuck the short dagger into a loop inside the cloak and straightened up. The folds of the garment parted to reveal loose clothing of rough linen. Boy's clothing, since Zwei considered himself as such. Fang had always been too polite to comment upon Zwei's choice of attire and used to such a strange attitude, continued: "Obviously, the whole estate will be on high alert, and I doubt we'll get another chance at coming close to having him in our hands anytime soon."

"But we saved little Gilbert, did we not? Or, rather, _I_ saved him," Zwei laughed. "Those silly men hiding in the garden could've hurt him, y'know. Their performance was so delightful."

Fang shook his head and gave a sigh. Zwei was one of the lost ones: the unfortunates born after the Tragedy of Sablier who never knew they had Baskerville blood. He wondered if Zwei would have grown up different had she – or _he_ , as the teenager preferred – had been found by him and Doug sooner. No matter – as long as Zwei could be controlled, Fang had to accept this strange youth as part of his order sworn to find their Master.

"I could have at least questioned them," Fang pointed out, "before you had your fun."

"Oh, we know that everyone in that household wants our lovely puppet to play a part in their own little shows. After all, Gilbert has such natural _talents_ for that sort of thing." Zwei crossed his arms and pouted, "Let's go try again, Fang! I swear, I'll be more careful!"

"No." Fang tucked the letter in his pocket. "Anyway," he mused, "most likely the culprit who sent those men was Lord Marcel. Only that fat fool would want to act so quickly as to have men on standby to kill his adopted nephew. What sheer idiocy."

The tattooed Baskerville rested one hand on the tree beside him as he surveyed the Nightray estate. Those Nightray opportunists had no idea how important the vessel was. Gilbert was only a tool for them; but to Fang and the Baskervilles, he was the sign they had all been waiting for.

"Out of all of Master Glen's chains, only the Raven refused to be contracted to another after the Tragedy. He's the oldest of the black-feathered Chains and the most loyal."

 _The Raven has returned to the world._ The significance of the event weighed heavily upon the two Baskervilles. After a moment of silence, Fang voiced the thought in their heads, too enormous to even fully comprehend after years of dead ends and lost causes.

"We've found a link to our Master at last."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A couple of notes for the curious:
> 
> In my head canon, after much discussion about how Zwei presents himself and addresses himself in Japanese, I think that he identifies as being transgender female-to-male. Other characters, however, don't understand what that means, of course, but go along with the idea that "Zwei is a girl who thinks [s]he's a boy." Echo won't make an appearance in this story (yet), though I do have a short one-shot in the works explaining her "birth."
> 
> Also, if you wonder what else I do, I have a tumblr where I talk MORE about Pandora Hearts (and write sexy pr0n drabbles). You can visit me at tiniestdormouse [dot] tumblr [dot] com.
> 
> And Fred! I think he's a nifty guy! He's got a tumblr too, where you can ask him questions about life with the Nightrays. Plus, he tends to slip out ficlets and backstory that serve as "behind-the-scenes" looks related to the Borderlands series. He tries to keep a stiff upper lip, but the gent gets rather lonely. Follow him at frederic-nightray [dot] tumblr [dot] com.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering dead assassins in the Nightray garden, Fred, Vincent, and Gilbert each take their own course of action about what to do next.

Vincent loved watching the blood run. Monitoring that crimson trickle down the side of the injured assassin's skull and stain the collar of the thin linen shirt he wore gave Vince a deep sense of satisfaction. He imagined this to be Fred's blood or filth from that blasted, useless uncle-in-law.

The man screamed as Vincent withdrew the razor blade. Cartilage from the man's ear, like a fresh lemon peel, curled away at the expert stroke and more bits of blood flecked upon Vincent's clothes as the other male thrashed against his bonds. Already, the man had come to them injured – a bullet hole through the shoulder – and Vincent pressed a thumb against the bandaged wound until the white became smeared with red.

"Let me ask you again, cretin. Who are you working for?"

Only a twisted sob come out in response.

A part of Vincent knew that the cold satisfaction wrought by tormenting this human being made him a monster. And the fact that he could stand here, blocking out the sounds of the man's cries while not even thinking of his comrades, whose found corpses were similarly desecrated…

 _They are all dollies. That's all,_ he reasoned. _Human dollies._ And while he didn't like to think about these mutilated bodies – living or dead – in association with his past (or maybe it was fitting to do so after all, for he was a child of misfortune still, and it was his duty to embrace this, yes… yes, that logic was sound…), the fact remained that these men tried to kill Gilbert.

So they all deserved to die. Horribly. Simple as that.

In that sense, Vincent was a fool to have wept. He'd have to make up for it threefold in dealing with the lone survivor.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Vincent glanced over his shoulder, a small smile gracing his face. He could hear the hesitation in the older noble's gait. What a surprise it must be, to see the younger adopted ward of the Nightray family pleasurably torturing another while he had trembled upon seeing the ripped remains the night before.

 _I wonder if you regret letting me help,_ thought Vincent. Then again, the head of the Nightray household hated getting his hands dirty.

The Duke's dark eyes widened slightly as Vincent stepped away from the groaning man. That was the only response he got before the Duke inquired in a noncommittal voice: "Has he confessed anything?"

"Nothing." Vincent lowered the razor blade and placed it on the pewter tray on the cracked wooden table beside him. How odd, he thought, that the Nightray manor would have isolated cellar rooms perfect for work such as this. Well, this was the house that had a long history of delving into the darker side of politics, for king and country. A sudden thought struck Vince: Who else out of the Nightray family had frequented these dank hallways and entered these suffocating rooms of stone?

"Should we give him to Pandora then?" Vincent asked, wiping his hands clean using an earthenware bowl of water and a rough-edged towel.

A whimper came from the man at that word and nothing more. The Duke and Vincent both glanced downward to see that he had passed out from the pain and simultaneously dismissed the action before continuing the conversation.

"I don't want them to find out, because I suspect that our culprit may be linked to another Dukedom," replied the Duke. "I don't want us to reveal our vulnerability." As Vincent tossed the towel to the damp tabletop, the older man continued, "I have been in talks with your Uncle Marcel and Fred about our next moves. I suggest, then, we keep Gilbert sequestered away as long as possible until we investigate the root of this attack and he tames his Chain."

"Agreed." _And I have my own investigations to conduct as well…._

Vincent turned to walk out of the room when the Duke said, "Have the servants get him cleaned up before you leave. We need him alive for awhile longer."

A scoff as Vincent surveyed the unconscious body before him. "Blood clots, doesn't it?" Upon exiting, he added, "I've already done my part."

xxxxxxx

For the first time in the last forty-eight hours, Gilbert found himself alone. After the chaos that had erupted – what appeared to be two attempts upon his life in less than a day since acquiring the Raven, his attempt to secretly flee the manor with the Nightray Heir, and the resulting discovery of one group of perpetrators slashed and shot to death in the manor gardens – Gilbert had come to the conclusion about one thing:

He was, inevitably, uncontrollably, a pawn.

The idea of being a pawn had come to Gilbert more than once in his life: after all, he still remained Break's "left eye" and knew far too well how little the Duke and Duchess cared from him aside from his potential as a Contractor. The thought even came to him the morning of the trial: that he was merely a piece in a much larger scheme.

Gilbert was willing to play that part. He knew that despite the precariousness of his position in the Nightray household and the own weaknesses in his nature (Gilbert never fooled himself into think he was ever – or could be ever – someone as strong as Break, or Sharon, or Oz….), he grabbed and fought the best he could using the limited means he had.

Sitting before the bathroom mirror, Gilbert let the overwhelming feeling take hold. The pressure of being watched and watching others and never fully trusting the motivations of anyone around him made his stomach twist uncomfortably. The Duke, his annoying uncle-in-law, Fred, and hell, maybe even Vincent and the goddamned Raven at this point: everyone under this household wanted him for some private reason.

Gilbert hated that feeling more than anything else: that he was being caged and only had so many options left. He wanted to be free to pursue his own desires and find Oz – why did everyone else have to get in the way?

He unscrewed the cap to the glass bottle of mint-and-chamomile tonic and took a swing of it. He only wished he had something stronger instead, but Gilbert knew at the very least he had to keep his wits about him.

Sighing, he replaced the bottle in the cupboard. Outside the bathroom door, he knew that several men and the family physician stood ready to attend to him, but he managed to stave them off to enter the bath alone. The Duke had increased his personal guard in light of the attacks; Gilbert wondered if he'd every have a chance to have a private moment to himself ever again.

The bandages around his neck were stiff with dried healing salve and colored a faint yellow. He knew that the doctor would want the bandages changed once more (and wouldn't let Gilbert do it himself), but, out of curiosity, he ran his fingers against the rough surface.

He knew that the Raven's mark – a matted black feather covered in dried blood – remained stuck to the side of his neck. But, ever since shooting that gunslinger the other night, something else had also been bothering him….

Gilbert untied the base of the wrapping. Carefully, he unwound it. The black, curved shape of the feather revealed itself once more, and Gilbert inwardly cringed. The feather resembled a brand, as if Gilbert had been enslaved instead of signing a Contract of his own free will.

He trailed his fingers over the seal once more. This disfigurement on his neck seemed more final and unyielding than the elegant gold-and-glass blood seal amulet that he wore. His touch lingered over the Raven's mark, mixed feelings of resentment, accomplishment, and fear each played over his thoughts.

He did it. He contracted the Raven. Now the real work of saving Oz had to begin. If only he could send word to Break-

Wait.

That itch in his thoughts rose to the surface again. Beneath the feather, there was a half-circle mark below that of the Raven's. Gilbert leaned toward the mirror, angling his shoulder for a better look above his collarbone. Half-raw, it looked like bite...

**Thief!**

The exclamation thundered between his ears. Whose voice was that _in his head-_?

Before him, in an odd sensation of double-vision, Gilbert witnessed the Raven swoop down in front of him. No, this couldn't be the Raven- he was huge and this figment, while standing a head taller than him, was a fraction of the actual size of his Chain.

"What is going on? Why are you here?"

Gilbert watched, fascinated at the feathers bristling from the Raven as he perched, mentally, in mid-air and squawked his outrage. The Raven's multifaceted voice in the Abyss was replaced by the single, private one, yet it expressed the rage of many.

 **I do not tolerate thieves.**  
  
"I didn't summon you..." Gilbert quickly re-tied the bandage around his neck. "Was that you… earlier? When I saw through your eyes?"

 **My eyes are open to you, Gilbert Nightray, if you choose to use them.** The Chain's feathers smoothed out upon seeing Gilbert cover the wound on his neck. **Good. You please me.** The Raven cocked his head to one side. **Understand this. One of my selves has settled in your mind to roost.**

"In...me..." Gilbert's mouth went dry saying the words. This was not something he expected after drawing up a contract with a Chain. The idea that something _not him_ living inside... Wasn't this mark in his flesh enough?

The Chain sensed his unease. **If you grow strong enough, perhaps I will leave you well enough alone. But that time has not yet come.**

"Why bother to even show up in... here?" Gilbert pressed his fingers against his temple.

The Raven's yellow eye gazed at him. **The Master is mine. Mine to use. Mine to protect. Mine only.**

The words eerily echoed Gilbert's declaration in the Abyss so much, he wondered if the Chain was mocking him. The Chain's eye seemed to slowly grow larger and larger as he continued to speak, the unnatural orb emerging from his head and overwhelming the rest of the avian body. **The thief who tasted you must be punished. I've waited too long to return to this world only to suffer such an insult.**

Oh gods, what had Gilbert gotten himself into-? That terrible eye became immense, bigger than any normal eye should be on any animal, bearing down upon Gilbert. He shuffled on hands and knees across the marble floor until his back slammed against the side of the tub. "What. Are. You?"

**What you wanted.**

"Young master?"

The vision of Raven's condemning eye vanished as Susie entered the room. "Are you well?"

A shudder went through him. Is this the truth behind contracting a Chain? Having a demon invade your brain? Making hallucinations pop up whenever it feels like it? No wonder controlling Chains was so difficult, no wonder Break acted on the verge of sanity, no wonder Vincent... oh gods...

Gil's gorge rose and, only with the utmost discipline, he held it down.

"Yes, Susie," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

Right before he lost consciousness.

xxxxxxx

_Firm, eager touches and Gilbert couldn't stop himself from arching into that hot grip. He held the other to him and let the sweat-slick skin rub against his own._

_He wanted this; he had waited so long and the other was so willing and-_

_A mouth reached his own and claimed it. Clasping lips. Delving tongue. Gilbert threw his arms around the smaller body, locking it in his hold. The other rolled on top of him, pinned down his wrists and hissed in a soft, lingering voice…_

_Oz…_

_No…_

_It wasn't him; it was—  
_

" _Brother."_

Gilbert woke, acutely aware of the heat of his skin and the sweat that stuck the coverlet to his bare chest. Shaking as he curled into a fetus position, clutching his pillow in his arms. Something… terrible… and he… Gilbert bit the back of his hand, letting the pain of that action overcome some twisted sense that rendered him ill. He swallowed and willed the disgusting stirrings of arousal out of his mind.

His stomach twisted as his heart slowed from its racing beat. That shouldn't _feel_ good. But what had he dreamt? Why wouldn't that chilling lingering beneath his skin leave?

"Gilbert?"

He glanced up to see Vincent by his bedside. Hot embarrassment took over. Instantly, Gil recoiled. Gods, please don't let Vincent _notice_ -

"Get out!" he snapped, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling a flush cross his cheeks in mortification. Gilbert's eyes darted around the room in search of a maid or the doctor or a guard, but found none of them. A mixture of relief (no witnesses) and discomfort (no witnesses) overwhelmed him. The nausea returned threefold. Gil emitted a low moan and buried his head in the pillow.

"W-where is everyone?"

"Conferring in the study. Again. I said I'd keep watch and sent the guard out of the room. They've been smothering you here, dear brother." Vincent's brow furrowed. "Are Gil's injuries making him feel worse?" Vincent tilted his head and laid the back of his hand across his brother's forehead. "You're feverish."

"No. This room is too cold." Wrapping himself in the coverlet, Gil hastily entered his receiving room and curled up on a corner of the divan. He stared at the carpeting, memorizing the curving patterns up against his mind in an attempt to think of something else. Please go away, please go away, please go-

"Leave me, Vincent."

"Young Master?"

To Gilbert's relief, the hallway door opened and Mary entered with a set of tea for three. _Thank the gods someone else is here,_ he thought, though he didn't know exactly why that spike of fear had arched along his neck.

"Hello Gilbert. Feeling better?" came a baritone voice behind Mary. She moved off to the side to set the tea set on the sideboard as Frederic entered the room.

Instinctively, Gilbert straightened his posture – it was an old habit he acquired years ago whenever the eldest Nightray came in his presence. Not wanting to look more pathetic before the young lord, he folded the coverlet and set it aside. Vincent lingered on the far side of the divan, trailing his hand along the smooth wooden scrolling.

"Why are you here, Fred?" he asked softly (but was there an subtle edge Gilbert detected in his voice?) "News about assassins?"

"Not as much as I'd like to inform you." The older gentleman took a seat across from them and took the offered tea cup from Mary with a brisk nod. "Father said that the lone survivor has been interrogated, but nothing's come of it yet."

"Hmmmm," Vincent murmured, twirling a lock of hair between his fingers. "He must be a tough one to crack."

"We have methods of making him, eventually." Fred lifted his cup and took a sip. He and Vincent exchanged an odd glance – only for a moment – and Gilbert wondered if either of them knew a secret concerning that criminal.

The next question from his younger brother came carefully. "Is Lord Zai with our foster father now?" He waved a hand at Mary to refuse the cup from her and so Gilbert took it instead. He let the warmth beneath the porcelain seep into his hands, even though he didn't feel up to drinking any.

"Lord Zai's already left for Pandora, alone. Apparently, Lord Barma is demanding a full report from him. I'm only glad that the physician had put his foot down about letting you come with him, Gilbert," Fred added. The doctor was adamant that what Gil needed was rest, not jostling around in a carriage to face poking and prodding from the scientists of Pandora.

"I don't know why the Duke trusts that Lord Zai would keep quiet about Gil's success, though," Vincent said darkly.

"We can only do so much before word gets out to the other Dukedoms that he has the Raven. Though it would be best to keep as quiet as possible ourselves concerning your condition." He lowered his tea cup and cleared his throat. "Besides which, we don't want the events of last night to become a daily occurrence. And speaking of recent events-" Frederic got to his feet and took a step toward the divan. Gilbert noticed Vincent making a move in turn closer to Gilbert, slipping into the seat beside him.

Frederic pressed a hand to his cravat. "You saved my life, Gilbert. Thank you." He leaned forward – Gilbert extended a hand, assuming that Fred was planning to give him a hearty handshake or shoulder clasp in gratitude.

What he did instead surprised him and Vincent both.

The ashen-haired man reached over and embraced Gilbert wholeheartedly. Gilbert gave a start as Frederic held him close enough to place his head over his shoulder:

"My younger siblings have acted immaturely, and I'm sorry that they've been so discourteous in the past. Believe me, when I say that the Nightray family fights to hold up their own. Despite the roots of your circumstances, you are part of our household, Gilbert. I've never forgotten that and never will."

xxxxxxx

Immediately, a flare of burning anger flashed across Vincent's vision. How dare he have the spleen to say that deceitful flattery before them-? The night before in that pathetic sentimental display – holding their hands, that cheap pep talk to stand as a united front – Vincent saw through that ruse clearer than greased wax paper. What was Frederic up to, thinking that he could win Gilbert over with this show of paternal kinship?

"You continuously exceed my expectations," Frederic said solemnly. "The Raven was correct in choosing you."

"Arse-kisser," Vincent hissed beneath his breath, causing both men to look over at him.

"Vincent?" the older man asked calmly, straightening up. "Did you have something to add?"

"Nothing. Except that you should not heap on such compliments for qualities that are only to be expected of any loyal member of the Nightray household. Your parents took us in out of the charity of their hearts, and we will never forget that." A gracious smile. _Two can play this game._

"Certainly." Abruptly, Fred got to his feet and adjusted his impeccable shirt sleeves. "Father asks for the presence of both of you to meet him in his study so we can discuss our future course of action."

"We will be there in awhile," Vincent replied before Gil could. "Please don't keep waiting on our account."

Gilbert gave both of them a wary eye, as if he didn't know who to trust more. He cleared his throat and replied, "I would need a while to make myself presentable." He nodded toward Mary, who had been standing silent by the tea tray the entire time. Vincent noticed that as well. The walls have ears here in the Nightray manor, and for a split moment, he wondered how much the servants knew that he did not. Better stop by the kitchens later to charm her and ask some questions himself, Vincent decided.

Fred nodded toward her. "Mary, can you please start the bath?"

"Please don't," Gilbert replied, before the young woman moved. "I can still attend myself." A slight pause. "You can put away the tea."

"Yes, young masters. Your Grace." She nodded separately to the three of them before gathering the cups, but waited courteously for Lord Frederic to leave the room before she did.

Vincent immediately locked the door behind them. "Brother," he said, "surely you don't believe that cheap flattery Fred spews out."

Gilbert hugged his knees on the divan. "He's… changed…" he replied slowly. "I mean, he's always been distant, and pretty, well, stiff upper lip to us. But he's never a cold man, I mean, not to our other foster siblings."

Vincent scoffed. "He dotes on Vanessa like a suitor and treats Elliot as his own son. Leaves Claude and Ernest alone unless it's to box Ernest in the ear. Doesn't give much of a damn for you or me. Until now." Frederic Nightray really was a mystery, in some aspects, because he was been raised nearly a decade apart from the rest of the household, born when the Duke and the Duchess were very young.

"I remember his visit to the manor after I first arrived," Gilbert mused. "He stayed for a season for the hunt, and would whip his riding crop on the back of my chair whenever he caught me slouching." He stared off with a small frown at the memory.

Vincent knew what his brother was thinking: how odd it was not to be close to someone that has been in your life for years. He'd thought that too, in a way that stabbed tight in his chest at certain moments when looking over at his older brother.

"We know enough. Until yesterday, he's been fighting you underhandedly every single step of the way. I can't believe his sincerity now, unless it be of the weakest sort, that political snake." How strange it felt to conspire with Gilbert like this. It happened so rarely, only when his dark-haired sibling felt the need to sort out all the crowded thoughts in his head, when the pressure of living in his repressed household became too much. _Trust me, brother, trust only me._ Subtly, he placed and arm on the divan seat behind Gilbert's hunched shoulders and brushed his fingertips along his back.

Immediately, Gilbert stood up. "Get me paper. I'll write letters to Pandora."

"But didn't you hear what Fred said about keeping your condition a secret? That's the only sound advice he gave."

"There is one man I can trust and he needs to know immediately."

Break. The clown. Vincent balled his hands into fists. "The Rainsworths sent a spy to your trial, you know," he retorted. "Their black unicorn. Equus."

Gilbert brushed off Vincent's accusation as he moved toward the ink and paper on the desk across the room. "They needed to know what happened to me anyhow, especially if Zai didn't allow Break to witness."

His unspoken words: _I consider them allies, Vincent._

"Why does Gil trust the Mad Hatter so much?" he snapped, letting a hint of jealousy ring in his voice. "Did he cut some sort of deal with you?"

Gilbert didn't answer, busy scribbling down a reply in his chicken-scratch penmanship.

He didn't even need to say it. Of course, the Vessalius brat was the only reason his brother did anything….

Vincent outwardly gave in. "If big brother trusts the Rainsworth's spy and her fool, then who am I to protest?" he said with resignation. "My opinion shouldn't interfere with what Gilbert wants."

"Vince," Gilbert folded the letter into a heavy envelope and held the dark blue stick of sealing wax over the oil lamp flame. He pursed his lips as the droplets collected at the end. "We only have so many people on our side now. We can't suddenly be suspicious of everyone around us."

_Silly Gil. Doesn't he know that's the attitude that lets others take advantage of you?_

The thought didn't leave his lips, however, and Vincent took the letter that Gilbert held out to him. Their hands touched and he saw a faint wisp of color cross Gilbert's cheeks. Frederic's attitude wasn't the only thing that had changed. What was Gilbert thinking of him? Of them?

Vincent bowed his head. "I will be sure this gets to Pandora," he replied. A pause. "Does brother need my help getting ready for the Duke?"

The blush deepened. "That's never necessary," Gil said. "I will meet you in the Duke's study." He left the room before Vincent did and shut the bedroom door. Vincent gave a small "hmmm" before exiting his brother's rooms on his way to the kitchens for his own personal investigation with the maid.

"Mary," he called lowly, entering the kitchens and spotting her scrubbing by the sinks. As he passed the giant cooking stoves, he shoved Gilbert's note into the cast-iron slots in the front of the grille and let the fire burn the Mad Hatter's note away.

He sided up to her and touched her waist. "Did you notice anything about Lord Frederic lately?" he purred in her ear, watching as her cheeks turned crimson in a very similar way his brother's had.

Interesting.

xxxxxxx

Quiet, all except for the lone drip of water from somewhere in the Nightray cellar. The sound echoed against the unforgiving stone walls of the chamber the final gunman was locked into. His head was bowed and bandaged from where he lad lost the tips of his ears and the front of his nose. There was no infection, but the dull throbbing pain clouded the man's senses and made it difficult for him to think. The assassin barely noticed the door to this room creaking open and a pair of sharp-edged boots click against the roughly tiled floor.

"Good evening."

No response. The second figure crouched down before the torture victim. A gloved hand slapped lightly against the side of the man's face.

"Wake," the other commanded. The assassin blearily blinked up at the nobleman before him as he returned to consciousness and gathered what strength he could to raise his chin.

"My Lord," the man murmured. He gave a weak cough.

"You're not well."

"I've been better." Another cough. "But… the others…?"

"They're dead."

The man was quiet for few moments. He knew, surely, how the arrangement had been made between his group and this nobleman. He was a professional who had been in this business for most of his life and he knew that one day, if he didn't die in bed – preferably rich and surrounded by a trove of supple young women in some foreign beach house – it would've ended miserably, like this.

The gunman glanced up, crestfallen, and replied: "I'm sorry we disappointed you, my Lordship."

"You did what you were told. You could not have accomplished your job in a more sufficient way." Fred had planned that either outcome would benefit him. If Gilbert had died, he could simply proceed with his plans to convince Father that there was another Nightray in line for the black blade that he had unfairly ignored for years ( _my dear, talented Vanessa_ ). But Gilbert had lived and proved to be a worthy candidate for the Raven so far. Frederic could deal with this turn of events, especially since his "rescue" by the Nightray ward would only serve as sound reason for him to become closer to the young man. Until the time proved ripe once again to act.

A small crystal bottle was removed from the inside of Frederic's jacket. "Please," he said. "Drink this. For the pain."

"Thank you." The man accepted the bottle and swallowed the contents, face scrunched up in a slight grimace.

"Any last words?" Fred asked. He always retained a certain measure of respectful kindness to dying people who worked in the shadows like him. They were both birds of a feather, their pinions tipped in blood and secrets.

"No. There's no one."

What a tightknit answer. No one for Fred to enact revenge upon for a job poorly done, the man meant. Professional to the bitter end.

The assassin gurgled and slumped over as the light left his eyes.

Fred calmly slipped the bottle in his pocket, closed the man's eyes, rose to his feet, and left the dank cellar room. A shadow fell over the dead man's face as the Nightray heir slammed the iron-barred portal behind him.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting in the midnight garden, a conspiracy in correspondence: one must learn to read between the lines in the Nightray household in order to survive.

To Lord Barma:

I write this news on behalf of my brother Gilbert, who at the moment is recovering from injuries sustained during his trial for the Raven. Do not worry, I am attending to his personal matters myself and can assure you that his wounds are not serious.

I am writing to bring up another manner concerning Pandora's representation during his trial. We are both severely disconcerted that Lord Zai Vessalius had been the one selected to preside over Gilbert's trial. While Lord Zai's qualifications are not being questioned in the slightest, his professionalism is, especially with his decision to witness this trial alone without the assistance of other Pandora members. If Gilbert hadn't pleaded my case, Lord Zai alone would have been the one subject to witness these events, which gives me great concern about the objectivity of his reported opinions of the trial.

Please see the enclosed report of my own personal observations, including Gilbert's condition during the aftermath. I hope you would take this under consideration when making any further decisions regarding any reports Lord Zai might produce in response.

As always, I shall remain–

Pandora's faithful servant,

Vincent Nightray

...

Dear Mr. Mad Hatter,

I'm sure Lady Sharon can inform you about the details concerning the unexpected circumstances surrounding Gilbert's trial. I'm also sure you're very curious as to why you have been passed over as Pandora's representative. Believe me when I say that it will be my topmost priority to question Lord Zai Vessalius's involvement. The Rainworths, however, should be more discreet in how they employ their own tactics.

All things considered, Gilbert is well, though all matters concerning him and the Raven should be sent to me directly. He has taken to bed, and I'd prefer him to rest as much as possible in the coming days.

Sincerely,

Vincent

...

To young Mister Vincent:

Thy missive was most informative, for it hath been unbeknownst to me until Mister Break had intruded upon mine quarters that morning that his request to oversee Gilbert's trial had been rejected. Investigations as to the meaning of this hath been dutifully carried forthwith, and yet as far as I can surmise, no regulation rules were violated. Lord Zai Vessalius hath informed me most directly about young Mister Gilbert's present condition, and Duke Barnard Nightray reported much the same during our weekly senior meeting. I do hope, otherwise, that we mayst see Mister Gilbert and yourself at Pandora headquarters soon – our researchers are most eager to witness a demonstration of the Raven's performance.

Best regards,

Duke Rufus Barma

as dictated to Mr. Reim Lunettes

xxxxxxx

Vincent sat on a stone bench near the entrance to Pandora's rose gardens as the moonless sky bore down upon him. Stars pierced the inky blackness, but even their light was not enough; it was pitch black enough that Vince couldn't even see his hand before him.

Inky blackness reminded Vince of terrible memories: as a child when he and Gil were in that freak show, the ringmaster used to punish them for "not performing good enough" by locking them in a steamer trunk in the back of his wagon. Vincent hated the ark after that – the stifling heat, the cramped space, the pangs of hunger and thirst that plagued them from staying in that wooden box for hours. The only comfort was Gil's thin arms wrapped around his shaking body, and that hoarse whisper, _"Go to sleep, Vince, go to sleep and when you wake up, we'll be free…"_

_snip, snip snip…_

Vincent's scissors chopped at the roses within his blind grasp. Thorns caught in his gloves, but he brushed them off, tucking the fork of his scissors beneath the rosebud.

_snip, snip, snip…_

The weighty blooms tumbled, unseen, to the ground. One or two roses fell into Vincent's lap, and he rubbed the tender petals against his cheek and tried to forget the oppressive feeling of the dark creeping over him.

His brother wasn't here to protect him anymore, but the Dormouse hummed softly in his mind and he felt its cold brush against his shoulder. Darkness was no problem for this Chain, a monster of spirit who would be able to warn Vincent of any imposing danger.

 _master, master…_ it murmured.

_he's here_

A slight press of footsteps upon the grass.

Vincent turned toward the proper direction with a nudge of the Chain's tail against his neck. "Lord Zai," he greeted. "I'm pleased to see you here. Well, or as close to seeing as we can get." He patted the stone bench beside him. "Sit?"

An uncertain shuffle and then the eldest Vessalius nobleman took his place beside Vincent.

"What is the meaning of this secrecy?"

"There's no moon tonight," Vincent pointed out. "So standing here means we have no chance of casting a shadow."

"What good is that for?"

A slow smile crept across Vincent's features, widening by the fact that the older Vessalius couldn't see his expression. "How well do you know Lady Sharon Rainsworth?"

The man's reply was guarded and Vincent heard him shift in his seat. "That she is the granddaughter of Lady Cheryl Rainsworth and the heir apparent to their Dukedom."

What gaping holes in his knowledge! Hmmmm, perhaps Lord Zai won't prove to be as much as threat as Vincent thought he might. "She's the Rainsworth's spy."

A noncommittal grunt from the other noble. Vincent twirled the head of a dead rose in his fingers and decided to show off a bit. Show Lord Zai how much a threat a mere "boy" like him could pose.

"Her Chain is Equus. It can watch through people's shadows. Now how long have you been away from Pandora, Lord Zai? She was contracted soon after your son disappeared."

Vincent wanted to place the rose in the man's front pocket as a neat way to buttonhole his victory and only brushed the back of the man's jacket as he rise to his feet. "Too long. I should've kept better tabs," he said smoothly, though Vince sensed the undercurrent of irritation.

He crossed his legs at the knee and flicked the red bloom off into the darkness. "Not many people at Pandora are aware of Lady Sharon's ability, my Lord. She's one of the closely guarded secrets of the Rainsworth family."

Vincent thought he should leave it at that—he had revealed too much of his own store of knowledge. He wondered what would come of this meeting, since obviously he did not expect Lord Zai to react kindly to his pronouncements. That was exactly what the young Nightray intended after all: to warn the noble that he, too, had his ways of harnessing power. At the base of his neck, Vincent felt the Dormouse's cool touch of its misty whiskers. He rose to his feet and was about to give a quick but cutting adieu when the next thing the Vessalius said surprised him.

"To be honest, it was my bleeding-heart brother Oscar who took your brother into the household," Zai muttered. A thump was heard against the grass—the thud of his walking cane punctuating the statement. "I never knew until eight months after Gilbert became situated within our family that he was even there. Not because Oscar never told me, but because getting family letters to me is difficult."

Why the sudden tangent? Vincent remained seated, but alert. "You're quite the nomad," he said after half a moment, once he realized the other man expected a response.

Now he was a bit annoyed by the darkness, for it obscured whatever nuances of expression Lord Zai revealed. "What I mean to say, young Vincent, is that you must believe me when I say I had no idea Gilbert was your brother when he was employed by my family. I barely even acknowledged his existence at the Vessalius estate."

"And how is that important?"

"Many... records have been lost when Sablier was destroyed. Including all of the household accounts." Another gruff clearing of the throat. "Pandora had to start the investigation from scratch, mostly through eye-witness accounts, and a lot of them conflicted or become lost over time. No one can even attest to an accurate record of who lived and worked there."

"What does that have to do with Gil and me?"

A pause. "Have you heard of the phrase 'Child of Misfortune'? It's an outdated term, mostly folklore superstition from the yokels, but it once held meaning."

A sudden reminder once agin about that horrid memory from years ago. The steamer truck's darkness was closing in, hot and stifling. Suffocating. Couldn't see, barely could breathe….

"Red-eyed children were named that," he replied as casually as possible.

"The Children of Misfortune are nothing more than superstition today, but the Baskervilles had good reason to always keep one child with them every generation. I'm unsure why, but they were key to their occult practices." A pause. "I'm surprised that you're not aware of this information as well, Vincent," in a tone that hinted he'd disbelieve any agreement Vincent would make about this statement.

Instead, Vincent strengthened his guard. A slow hand reached out to touch the Dormouse's flank in his mind and his right hand rose in the direction of the Vessalius noble. To sleep, to forget, to manipulate….

And again, Zai's words took him aback. "I met some others who have claimed to escape the Abyss. They also have important information regarding the black-winged Chains that you should know. Would you like to meet them?"

Did Zai suspect? Vincent realized how vulnerable he seemed and counterbalanced that with the possibility to him doing something against Lord Zai without any consequence. No, he didn't want to strike the man down or physically threaten him in any way. That was not how games among nobles were played. He needed to lure him in subtly, to give a show of strength that he was just as capable in these underhanded affairs as the Vessalius man was. Vincent would not be tempted or fooled or misdirected through his love. Unlike poor Gilbert, who fell for any trick, half-believing that his compromises were always worth it.

"Why pass this information onto me and not my brother directly? Are you asking me to deceive him?"

"Gilbert is under constant observation, and I cannot trust all the people he surrounds himself with. You yourself gave proof of that by pointing out Equus' involvement."

Intriguing. Does he not trust the Nightray household as a safe guard against leaks? Or is Lord Zai vying against Lord Bernard and the rest of them? If so, though, why does he sense that Vincent's allegiance can be separated from that of his foster family?

"How about my involvement, Mister Gryphon?" he murmured coyly. "Do you see me as a traitor?"

"I see you as a potential ally who values Master Gilbert as much as I do."

"Ha." A dry scoff. "Everyone seems to value Gilbert nowadays in ways that don't treat him very well at all."

 _Dormouse-!_ came the thought and the Chain appeared into this realm in a blink of an eye, a sudden cloud of cold billowing out.

_yes?_

The sudden drop in temperature and the shuffle of a heavy cloak. A great gust of wind billowed Vincent's coat and the low caw echoed in the garden from a deep, inhuman voice.

_lion-bird_

murmured the Dormouse.

_are we going to_

_play?_

"Vincent," Zai's gruff tone hardened, "I am not sure what your assumptions are concerning this engagement, but I swear upon the Vessalius honor that I mean you and your brother no harm. Any gesture against me, however, I am fully prepared to defend without regret."

Vincent chuckled and waved his hand away, sending the Chain away with a silent command. The Dormouse, in his mind, gave a little pout before vanishing into the Abyss.

"You appeal to the heart of a Nightray, though honor means less to me than it does to the rest of my family," he smirked. "Tell me this, my judgmental Lordship: why enlist _my_ aid?"

"Is it not obvious? You, out of the entire family, care for Gilbert unselfishly. Even a nomad estranged from the heart of Pandora's politics can see that. The people I know also care for Gilbert, and his… the Raven's… potential. I am merely acting as a representative to offer you the chance to ensure your older brother's protection."

Oh, a proposal that too many people had given Vincent in the past, only to betray him. He had been but a child the last time this had happened, and he won't be fooled by such honeyed words again. Calculatedly, Vincent backtracked across the grass, giving a loud yawn to mask the subtle tread of his steps.

"I tire of this conversation," he replied lightly. Turning around, he added, "Prove to me how invested you and your 'people' are in protecting my older brother." _Not that I would trust anyone to do that better than me._ "Then, perhaps, I'll consider your offer."

He heard a grunt behind him. Was it from the noble or his Chain? He couldn't tell, nor did he care.

xxxxxxx

_Gilbert flew._

_Below, the landscape floated in a rolling lull of grays with subtle floating particles of gold, drifting like snow. Currents of air buoyed him up, but it wasn't only him; Gilbert was not alone in the sky but part of a mass that supported his limbs and pumped them for him. He heard not only his heartbeat, but the_ thump, thump thump _of hundreds of others and when he gazed upon the featureless rolls and valleys below—_

( _every speck of dirt, every soul dashing below across the nothingness, every monstrous form that crawled upon this world as a fuzzy shape of a distant memory-_ )

Where am I?

 **With us, Gilbert Nightray** , _came the chorus of the Raven._

But- _Gilbert tried moving his limbs but couldn't find them. A flash of panic and he tried crying out, only to discover his could not. He had no mouth. He had no body._

 _No, it wasn't that. He_ did _have a body, but it was the Raven's. He saw the strange world of the Abyss – all backwater and waste like a child's flooded toy box – but didn't see with his eyes, but through the many golden eyes of the Raven. He did have a voice, but it was a tiny one that lost itself in the multitude of the hundreds of others._

Let me go! _Gilbert cried._ Where am I-?

**We fly, Contractor. We fly as one until the thief is caught. You shall lead me to them.**

What the- wait, no! I'm not part of you! I'm- I'm Gilbert! You are my Chain. How can-?

_The chord of laughter that jolted through Gilbert's awareness._

**Foolish human. Don't you understand the meaning of our Contract? I live inside of you.**

_A sharp pain in his left arm (But did his arm really exist here? Where was here?) and Gilbert groaned._

**You are mine, human. I will fight to avenge what has been taken from me.**

I'm NOT yours! _Gilbert screamed, and he tugged at the invisible chains he felt digging into his arm until—_

A gasp and Gilbert shot awake, his right hand gripping the revolver drawn from his bedside table and pointing….

He stared at the cold muzzle pressed against his left shoulder and blanched.

"No…" he muttered, dropping the weapon onto the bedcovers and pressing both palms into his eyes.

"Young master?"

Candlelight and a figure standing in the doorway, tray in hand. Gilbert hastily tucked the revolver underneath his pillow upon recognizing the senior maid. Did she notice his actions? He prayed not: surely attempts at shooting oneself is not a sign of a recovering Contractor.

The matronly women entered as if nothing unusual had occurred. "How's the young master? I've got a warm drink to help him rest."

Her discretion relieved him. Gilbert relaxed against the headboard as she approached.

Self-consciously, however, he touched the bandage around his neck. The Raven's feather remained.

"Thank you." Gilbert gave a wan smile. "Is Vince in his rooms?"

"He went out earlier this evening. The lad deserved a break; he's been nursing you since your trial."

And still out at this late hour? Perhaps this was the opportunity he needed finally to contact Break. Gilbert fished a letter that he had penned earlier from the hidden bottom of his bedside table. He hadn't been able to fulfill the duty as Break's "left eye" since contracting the Raven. He was surprised that Break hadn't broken out of his wardrobe by now demanding answers.

"You've helped me so much, Susan." He only used the senior maid's full name when they were alone. It felt more proper that way, as if the social difference between them did not exist.

"It's only my duty to the Duke's family."

"Of course," Gilbert glanced off to the side. "But I'm not really part of the Duke's family."

"Oh, young master." She clucked under her tongue in a matronly way. "You've never forgotten your origins, never took on airs. I've served in a lot of houses in my time, and not everyone lucky enough to rise to your position has been as kind to the downstairs folk."

A twist of guilt in Gil's stomach. People like Susie and Joseph were good people; they were the force that blunted some of the subtle cruelties of this household. The thought of tainting that sincerity by asking them to do things for him was discomforting. Even small things like monitoring the Duke's schedule unnerved him. Asking servants to assist in nobles' maneuverings reduced him to the Nightrays' level, mired him further into their blackness.

But, as Break had mused once during their many teas together, how can Gilbert be sure the family hadn't been monitoring Vince and Gilbert just as closely?

Quid pro quo, the older man reasoned. Heeding the Pandora officer's cold logic – and all the other things Gilbert had to do over the years – sometimes made him want to punch Break in the face and never stop.

But perhaps, now that he had the Raven this could end. Next time he saw Break, he could say this was enough and lift one of his burdens. He did his part of the deal and his duty as the "left eye" should end.

Seeing Gilbert's furrowed brow, Susie bowed her head. "Pardon me, young master, for speaking out of place."

"I'm sorry. It's only that..." Gilbert sighed. "Did Break try to contact me?"

"Several times. But young Master Vincent's been handling your correspondence."

The news startled him. "He's never told me."

"He didn't want to hinder your recovery, young master."

Gilbert tucked his letter into Susie's palm. "Get this to the Rainsworth estate." He hesitated. "Keep this from Vince."

As the older brother, he didn't want to entrench Vincent inside this nasty web he'd gotten himself tangled in. Vince should remain protected from all of this messiness. Besides, it was none of his little brother's business what Gilbert did to save Oz.

Susie nodded. "At your service." A pause. "When you first took ill, he asked about putting one of my girls on notice for Master Frederic and Lord Marcel. He said that they are plotting against you."

For a moment, Gilbert blanked on the second name, before recognizing it as his uncle-in-law's. For years, he hadn't even thought of him other than Uncle, particularly since the noble in turn only thought of him as "ward" or "brat." Gilbert lifted his head. "And how has that gone?"

"She's noticed that Master Frederic's been sending more letters to the Duke, and Lord Marcel's been in talks for the last few days in the Lord's rooms. Nothing else." A hesitation. "I thought you and Vincent had an arrangement worked out. Should I report only to you, young master?"

"Tell Vincent nothing." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to get him involved any further." He swallowed hard. That despicable coating of deceit made him feel queasy. No, he reasoned, this wasn't trickery, he should stop thinking about things this way.

"It's sweet how much you care for your younger brother." Susie smiled and Gilbert's heart twisted a little. He honestly liked them all, the staff of the Nightray manor. He had been one of them; he related more to them than to anyone else in this household, even Vincent. So if he liked them, then it didn't mean he was exploiting them, not really...

Loyal was a bond of trust that shouldn't be taken lightly. As long as he didn't betray them, as long as he was kind and gracious, maybe it was proper to consider them more than servants. They were different than the Nightray family and their elite world of deceptions. They were _real_ people.

"Susan," he said, willing all sincerity into his voice. "Someday, I hope to be able to help you as you have me."

Her old eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "Enjoy your drink, young master, and good night." The senior maid gave a deep curtsy and left the room.

xxxxxx

Break,

I've been ill as of late because of the Raven, but I'll try as hard as I can to recover soon. I think there's something going on at the manor, but I can't put my finger on what just yet.

We can finally get the work started. Please have Lady Sharon send a message via Equus if you can't reach me any other way.

\- Gilbert

...

Dear Vince,

May this message find you and Gilbert well. It's been a week or so since we saw you last at Pandora, and I sincerely hope nothing terrible has befallen Gilbert's health after contracting the Raven. Is there any way that he can accept visitors? Every time I inquire about Gilbert to Duke Nightray, he says that perhaps soon Break and I would be able to visit but cannot say when. You are both missed around here at headquarters.

Warmly yours,

Lady Sharon

...

Dear Lady Sharon,

It is quite unfortunate that Gilbert's prolonged illness has prevented him for seeing any of our colleagues. Please be assured that our best family physician is attending to his needs and I have not left his side since. As soon as Gilbert's health improves, you will be one of the first to know.

Fondest regards,

Vince

...

To Mr. Vincent:

My master Lord Barma has asked that I send another letter on his behalf. He requests for you and Gilbert to make an appearance at Pandora within the next fortnight. While my master understands this may put a strain upon Gilbert's current state, he offers to send his personal physician to the Nightray estate to aid in his recuperation.

Your most attentive,

Mr. Reim Lunettes

P.S. On a personal note, many of us are wondering about you two and only wish for the best. Be well. ~RL

...

To Mr. March Hare:

I thank you for your personal concern regarding Gilbert's condition. I cannot make any promises at this point about my brother, but nevertheless, I will heed Lord Barma's request and make an appearance tomorrow evening, if he wishes to speak with me personally regarding further information about Gilbert's situation.

As always, I shall remain–

Pandora's faithful servant,

Vincent Nightray

...

Dearest Vince,

I don't mean to be intrusive, but Gilbert's extended absence this past month is greatly worrying. Every single time I've stopped by the Nightray estate, I've been turned away by your head steward. Believe me when I say how much I trust you in regards to Gilbert's well-being, but please also understand why after such a prolonged silence from him, we have become concerned.

Ever most kindly,

Lady Sharon

...

Lady Sharon, sweet darling,

My brother is truly lucky to have friends like you. In your position, I would undoubtedly share your concerns. Nevertheless, Gilbert is my responsibility, and I appreciate that you realize this is one I do not take lightly. I am determined to remain by his side throughout his recovery, and I am more than willing to have tea with you and Mr. Break some time at your estate to report more about his present condition.

With eternal fondness,

Vince

...

Dormouse,

Stop playing with us. Duke Nightray informs me that he trusts you to attest to your brother's condition, but I'd rather make a personal assessment at this point. This secretiveness is trying the patience of many of us.

Break

...

My dearest, most precious Mad Hatter,

Gilbert will see you when he is ready. And not a moment sooner.

Most lovingly,

Vince

xxxxxxx

_click… click…_

Vincent turned the key to the wardrobe and tucked it in his pocket. Methodically, he checked the covered windows (the curtains were never parted now, unless it was to relieve the set of guards sitting on the balcony) and gave a playful wave to the men standing outside. He then motioned to close the bedroom door, after giving a silent wink to Mary, before sending her away to her quarters for the night.

Big brother might complain about Vincent being there in the morning, but now, while he laid unaware in bed, Gilbert had no choice but to allow his dearest little brother check in on him. Vincent didn't really trust the rest of the Nightray staff to do a sufficient job. He couldn't trust that they could stop the Mad Hatter from riding in on the back of Equus to intrude on them.

Not that he'd entice Gilbert to do anything now – there was no privacy nowadays. Everyone was on alert for the next attack and his poor brother never got a moment to himself (they never got a moment to themselves…).

An anxious person such as him would have wilted under the pressure of these constant eyes, but at the moment, the body on the bed was pleasantly still. Vincent perched on the edge and ran a hand across his older brother's pale brow.

Cool to the touch. Discomfortingly so.

"Gilbert's suffering from another terrible bout…" Vincent whispered, frowning. He tucked the covers in tighter around his brother's lanky frame, stroking his hands across his clothed chest. Gilbert's breath came and went shallowly.

Kneeling by the bedside, Vincent tucked his chin upon his crossed arms and watched the little movements of Gilbert's sleeping face. Beneath those near-translucent lids, he could tell the eyes were roaming. The deepest part of sleep. And yet his body looked more than sleeping—almost as if it was put in a sort of trance.

"Where are you, big brother?"

He leaned in and inhaled, softly, right below Gilbert's ear, where Vincent could catch a whiff of his brother's scent. Gently, he brushed the tip of his nose there by the beating pulse. A hand started at Gilbert's shoulder and descended down the relaxed muscles of his arm beneath the blanket, down to stoke his side. There was a slight curve along his torso, something almost womanly in the skin beneath his ribs that connected so well with his fingertips.

He wondered whether Gilbert was ticklish here still; he was very much so when they rough-housed as boys. Vincent felt the arousal seep into his front like pooling molasses. Absent-mindedly, he began to hum in tune with the Chain in his brain.

They'll be partners; they'll work for Pandora. Vincent will prove how useful he is, and even if it was to find that Vessalius brat. Gilbert can be so misguided at times, but Vince will save him eventually. He'll convince his brother how horrible his most precious person is….

A shudder through Gilbert's form. A grimace twisted his face suddenly, shocking Vincent enough to retract. Was his brother in the throes of a nightmare? Or something worse?

Clammy perspiration formed at Gilbert's brow and his arms jerked abruptly.

"Oh brother, let me make you feel better," hissed Vincent as he put a hand to Gilbert's forehead.

 _Dormouse,_ he ordered. _Go into Gilbert's Borderlands and tell me his dreams._

The Chain resurfaced in his mind's eye, bowing its head reluctantly.

 _master_ , came the whine.

_must i?_

What? This was the first time the Chain refused a command outright. _You are my Chain, Dormouse. You are usually so eager to please me._

The form of the Dormouse peeking out from the forest inside his head, its hesitant snout quivering between the branches of a thorny tree.

_that brother of yours_

_is_

_annoying_

it pouted.

_and possesses_

_uninteresting_

_dreams_

_master_

_would not like_

_them_

_i am sure_

_How do you know what I like or don't like? Why would that matter to you?_ Vincent tilted a side of his mouth downwards in his own little pout. _I wasn't asking, Dormouse. Go._

_all righty_

it muttered and in a blink, vanished.

On the bed, Gilbert gave a soft sigh. Vincent remained kneeling by the bed, annoyed at the Chain and fighting his own yearning to be closer to his brother. How tempting it would be to nestle by his brother's body, to curl his limbs around that prone form, to feel every part of them touching beneath the sheets…

Instead, Vincent clamped the feelings of frustration that welled inside and petted Gilbert's left hand over and over again.

Gilbert tossed his head. A faint murmur escaped his dry lips.

"…thief…"

xxxxxxx

 **Thief!** _cawed the Raven and the monochromatic world trembled in outrage. Gilbert clutched at nothing, instinctively trying to grip with hands that did not exist. Not in this form._

(a tremble in the waters below, closer, the ruined brick buildings of the Abyss, closer, the darting shadow skirting from ruin to ruin, closer, a floating figure-)

There, there, there, there!

_The unkindness of the Raven dived. Gilbert's nonexistent stomach dropped. His many eyes widened. That thing was—_

Firm hands gripped his shoulders as Gilbert tried bolting from the bed. Immediately, he felt Vincent's arms locked him in close, muffling his outcry.

"There, there, big brother, there, there…"

Those words crawled along his skin. Gilbert struggled out of Vincent's embrace.

"Vince, s-stop it," he gasped. "I-I'm fine. I'm fine…" He removed himself from his little brother's suffocating hold and pressed his back against the headboard with a heavy thud, gasping. Vincent withdrew, smooth as silk, a closed expression masking those androgynous features. The two stared at each other for several moments as Gilbert fought to contain his unrestrained panic.

_No, no, no, no, no, no…_

Hands clutched again, grabbing sheets and pillows, wadding them and gripping them almost childishly to his chest. His eyelids lowered and Vincent sighed.

"Gil was having a terrible dream." For a moment, it looked as if Vincent might attempt to touch him again, but instead folded his arms and leaned against the bedpost furthest away from Gilbert.

"Does he want to tell me about it?"

He blinked and worried his bottom lip. Vincent had been by his side through everything, been the only person he could trust, even when he couldn't fully control himself. But the thought of Vincent going behind his back – corresponding with Break and Sharon, sealing him away, perhaps? – gnawed uncomfortably at him. Vincent shouldn't be doing such things. Gilbert shouldn't drag him into this darkened fold that he had fallen into. Vince was Gil's responsibility, after all; he should be the one protecting him. From conspirators that lurked outside and this demon that raged within.

His shoulders slumped, and Vincent reached out to stroke his gloved hand along his bicep. Gilbert raised his head and saw that half-smile grace Vincent's lips, his usual one that never reached his eyes.

"Nothing," Gilbert replied. "I remember nothing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 11/9/2013  
> This story is still in-progress, though it has been almost a year since its last update ^^;;
> 
> I have most of the story plotted out, if not written, and I am determined to get through with in the next six months (huzzah!)
> 
> Thanks goes out to all of the readers as this series has progresses, and I an grateful for your patience as this piece moves along.


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